Worn Leather and Dulled Steel
by Sochineya
Summary: A lax Kor'kron guard and a troublesome rogue find themselves in an unfortunate situation when something of the Warchief's winds up stolen. Their luck doesn't improve much during their ensuing adventures, either. m/m
1. Chapter 1

Gurok rubbed at the back of his neck, wiping away the sweat that was beginning to bead there. "I don't know about this," he said gruffly.

He'd had to take off his helmet once the sun had begun to bear down upon the city in full force- the thick metal and stone walls of the Hold held in the heat like an oven. He cradled the plate helm in one arm as he struggled to express his doubts about the infiltrator's intentions.

"Oh, come on, Gurok," the rogue pleaded, sidling up a little closer to the armor-clad orc. "All I'm asking for is a couple of minutes inside."

The Kor'kron Elite fidgeted slightly from the blood elf's close proximity. As always, he smelled faintly of bloodthistle and leather, smoky and spicy and sweet. "'All you are asking' is the infiltration of the inner sanctum of Grommash Hold," he said slowly, his tone stern but his eyes hesitant.

"Two minutes," the slender figure said breathily, already taking a few deft steps toward the door. "What could two minutes hurt?" he wheedled.

Gurok glanced around, checking for any of the patrols scheduled to pass by. "What will you do?"

"Steal something. But nothing important," he admitted with a half-shrug. Gurok got the feeling that an easy grin was hidden behind the mask that covered the bottom half of his face.

The Kor'kron guard had to give credit where credit was due- the rogue was surprisingly honest. He had never lied to him about his intentions before. It was a rather refreshing change from the usual character of the riffraff he dealt with, but it did little to ease his nerves now.

He studied the planks of the wooden floor, trying to decide whether to give in again, whether _this_ time would be the one in which they were caught and dishonored and exiled… or executed. The latter seemed more likely now, with Garrosh in command.

Hellscream's eyes were upon them _always_, after all- even when he was not present in the city. Gurok almost shuddered at the thought.

"Something old and useless. Or something from one of the sin'dorei. No one will even notice," Arastel assured him, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. Gurok knew that he could see the slow changing of the shadows against the far wall, where sunlight fell in golden slants against the harsh, dark metal; the rogue knew the patrol schedule as well as any guard did. "I just need a little supplement to my income. Some quick gold. Then I'll be out of your hair for a while. Figuratively speaking, of course," he added, his dark pupils flitting up to the crown of Gurok's shaved head.

The orc studied him closely, aware of how the small elf was growing anxious as the seconds ticked by. The rogue's stealth could not deceive experienced elites, and not all guards were as forgiving as he was.

_Stupid, more like, _the orc chastised himself. _Not all are as smitten as I am._

"There must be a better way of making gold," he said warningly, his dark amber eyes fixed on the rogue's. They were _so_ green. Striking.

He had spent time in Outland, but had seen little outside of Hellfire Peninsula and Shadowmoon Valley- and even then he had spent most of his time guarding the fledgling outposts. Still, it was enough to become familiar with the eerie green glow of the fel, so vivid against the rest of a dying world turned dingy and dull and lifeless by demonic taint.

And damn him if the elves didn't possess the most infuriatingly captivating fel-green eyes- this elf in particular.

Arastel shrugged at his words of caution. His gaze never lost the quiet pleading, the silent search for consent. "Please?" he tried.

_Ah, that word_. After a long moment, Gurok gave a low groan and stepped to the side wordlessly.

Arastel gave him a nod and a quick wink before ducking past the hulking orc and slipping into the sanctum of the hold.

Gurok sighed deeply. It wasn't the first time that he had wavered and submitted to the elf and it wouldn't be the last.

A year ago, his post had been his life. He had served as Thrall's guard with the utmost loyalty and rigidity, faithfully guarding the Warchief's Hold against all attacks and intrusions.

The orc could not pinpoint the exact date when he had begun slipping… only that it was some weeks after encountering Arastel in one of Orgrimmar's seedier bars. Quick and nimble though the rogue's fingers were, they were no match for an experienced member of the Kor'kron elite- though the orc had to give him points for being bold enough to try and pickpocket him while he was still in his uniform armor.

Something in the elf had stirred up a bit of compassion within Gurok and kept him from snapping the would-be thief's wrist, and it was that same something that continually left him at the mercy of the rogue's requests.

He was _charming_, Gurok supposed. It was a curious thing. _Orcs_ weren't charming- they didn't need to be. Gurok couldn't even think of a time that another orc had ever _winked_ at him. Still, he couldn't deny that it was an effective tactic. He could shoot an arrow perfectly straight, cleave a demon in two, and bash his enemies so hard that they staggered helplessly afterward, but he there was no training to prepare him to counter the likes of Arastel's charisma.

The warrior clenched his jaw and counted the seconds, nodding to the passing patrol when they made their rounds. He grew worried when he reached a hundred and twenty with no sight of the golden-haired elf; Arastel was rather punctual, at least when it came to his shadowy work. A rogue with poor timing was short-lived, after all.

Half a minute later, Gurok felt a gentle pressure against his back. He stiffened, unable to even exhale.

"Sorry, sorry. I found something _heavy_," he heard the elf whisper against his shoulder- Arastel was clearly up on his tip-toes for his breath to be able to hit the back of his neck like this. He suppressed the shudder that threatened to ripple through him at the elf's close proximity. "Thanks, Gurok. You're wonderful."

The orc licked his lips nervously as Arastel slipped past him, feeling a bit heady from the hushed praise. The elf seemed to be weighed down a bit, moving along the walls in a slow crouch with his haul strapped to his back. The Kor'kron guard couldn't make out what it was, but assumed that one of the blood elf dignitaries had just lost a very expensive hookah.

Gurok focused on the rogue's lithe form until he was soon inseparable from the shadows themselves, and even after he continued to stare, lost in his thoughts.

They way that the elf moved reminded him of the prowling cats of the Barrens. He hardly ever saw Arastel's approach- he was, for all his winking and grinning and ribbing, a very good rogue- but he almost always got to watch him _leave_, and that was something of a reward in and of itself.

It wasn't until he heard a furious voice barking in his ear that he was shaken from his increasingly inappropriate train of thought and brought crashing down into the present.

"It's no wonder they're missing!"

"Captain," he growled as he straightened to meet the grizzled orc's fearsome glare and then saluted in way of acknowledgement. It wasn't like the captain to show up like this, which meant…

_Oh, no. Ancestors, no. _The orc willed the sweat beading on his forehead to stop, and his breathing to calm, and his limbs to steady. Arastel's work shouldn't have been discovered at all, much less _minutes_ after his flight.

"A pack of draenei could have wandered in here, lit a giant elekk turd aflame, and then danced away for all the attention you're paying," Nuar bellowed, his spittle hitting an unflinching Gurok. He hovered inches from the guard, a harsh sneer curling around his tusks.

"Captain, I was not aware that I was the sole guard of the hold," Gurok replied lowly, trying to keep a dark flush of shame from working its way up to his face. Panic was slowly working through him as his mind raced to determine what had been taken.

Arastel had said 'nothing important', hadn't he? The warrior felt as though his insides had turned to molten lead, sharp jolts of worry making him sweat nervously. Arastel could be a spy, and Gurok might have single handedly delivered him every battle plan within the Hold. What better way to make coin than to sell secrets to the Alliance? The whole destruction of the Horde might be on his shoulders.

If not that, then something else. There were great relics within Grommash Hold, things of power and magic that could be devastating in the wrong hands; there were cultural treasures, far too important for a price, though the goblins would doubtlessly affix them with one; and for one terrifying, fleeting moment, Gurok wondered whether the rogue had somehow gotten away with _Gorehowl_.

Seemed unlikely, considering that the Warchief practically slept with the axe and took it with him whenever he ventured out of the Hold, but the warrior's heart still clenched at the thought.

"You are the guard stationed immediately outside of the Warchief's armory, cur," the captain sneered. He shook his head in disgust, the action sending his graying ponytail swinging. "And ancestors help me, unless Hellscream's axes are returned to their racks before he gets back from Ashenvale, there will be fel to pay, Bloodtusk."

"His-his axes? The Bleeding Crescents are missing?" Gurok was a full-grown male, a seasoned warrior, a demon-slayer, but he still couldn't keep his voice from cracking. The Warchief may have Gorehowl, but his old axes were still well-loved and tenderly cared for- a link to Draenor and the Mag'har and very much a point of pride for the son of Hellscream.

"No! No, nothing is _missing_," the captain answered with a warning growl, grabbing a fistful of Gurok's tabard and tugging him forward until they were nose to nose. The older orc shifted his weight, looking both angry and uncomfortable. "Understand?" he added lowly.

Gurok nodded sharply. As the captain slowly loosened his hold on him, he felt like he could breathe again. "I will… I will retrieve them before their absence is noted, Captain."

Nuar snorted in approval. "You are relieved of your duties until you do so, Bloodtusk. Hellscream is due back in two days. Recover them before then," he ordered as he turned on his heel, "or don't bother coming back."

* * *

_Cursed elf. Damned elf. That… scourge-ridden, fel-snorting, sticky-fingered elf!_

Gurok exhausted his knowledge of insults and profanities as he made the long, unpleasantly sweltering walk from Grommash Hold to his house. The orc sighed heavily, doubting very much that he would still have a place in the Kor'kron by this time tomorrow. And when Hellscream found out…

He resisted the urge to punch a loudmouthed goblin hawking some severely discounted explosives on the side of the street.

When Hellscream found out, Gurok would _wish_ that he had been stomped by a fel reaver back on Draenor. There was no way around it.

And he would throttle the elf when he found him.

He had let Arastel get away with so much and all he had expected in return was the bare minimum of decency. He held no illusions of the rogue turning noble and chivalrous and walking away from his life of crime, but he had thought there was an unspoken agreement that Arastel would not _blatantly_ screw him over.

But apparently truegold letter openers and the sin'dorei diplomats' fine silverware weren't fetching enough gold on the black market for the rogue's liking, and apparently the solution was to start raiding the Warchief's armory.

Gurok gnashed his teeth, earning him a frightened look from a young blood elf adventurer.

He had let the elf have his way, and in return he got to feel his heart flutter and his sluggish pulse quicken in a way that not even battle could replicate. He knew that it was foolish, and that he had brought it upon himself for letting himself get smitten with such a rogue and trusting him so fully, but the disappointed ache in his chest called for some sort of retribution.

He let his thoughts linger on ways to get back at the deceitful sin'dorei, but eventually the withering heat of Durotar won out. The sweltering temperature temporarily distracted him from the horrible situation at hand- it was hard to be righteously angry when it was so oppressively _hot_.

The streets were nearly empty, the afternoon sun having driven most people into the shady confines of their homes or businesses. Gurok made purposeful strides toward his own home, nestled in the Valley of Honor, eager to reach the shade and familiar comfort of home.

He slipped inside and pulled off his tabard and armor. His job required that he wear a great deal of protection and carry a heavy pair of axes, and while he did not wish to walk across Orgrimmar unarmed, he dared not simmer out in the heat in full plate.

Instead, he slipped into a mix of chainmail and leather, enjoying its give and flexibility and lightness. He grabbed two large daggers from his chest of weapons and slipped them into his belt, right next to a pouch containing just enough coin for a few drinks.

He'd need something to pass the time while he waited for the elf to turn up, and Ancestors knew he needed a bit of brew after the turn of events today.

* * *

Tablah's bar was little more than a large, round hut perched on stilts within the Valley of Spirits, but Gurok was fond of it. It was soothing- the gentle lapping of the water beneath them was calm and rhythmic, and its position within the winding canyon ensured shade and coolness on even the worst days of summer. The place was dim and dark without being seedy, quiet without being suspiciously so, and always kept his favorite beers on tap.

It was typically frequented by trolls, but having served alongside Tablah in Thrallmar, Gurok felt as welcomed here as any of the Darkspear. It wasn't very popular with other Kor'kron guards, or other orcs in general, actually, making it a very nice place to get away from his comrades from time to time.

"Good ta see ya, mon," the lanky, blue-skinned troll greeted as Gurok stomped in. "Hey, don' be crackin' ma floors now."

"Sorry," the orc grunted as he approached the bar on the far side of the room, now taking care to walk softly- the place was, thankfully, quite empty, or else he was certain he might have startled some other patrons with his kodo-like tromping. He pulled his coin pouch from his belt and dumped the contents on the counter.

Tablah merely looked at him for a few moments before sighing and sweeping the silvers into a jar. "Ya look like a witch docta' what gone an' lost his voodoo, mon," the troll said with a shake of his head. "Tell ol' Tablah what be goin' on. Maybe I can help do sometin' bout it den."

The orc grumbled under his breath.

The troll grinned and cupped his ear as he leaned forward.

"Trouble with the captain. With the elf," he added reluctantly.

Tablah had produced a ridiculously large stein and filled it to the brim with frothy beer within seconds. "What'd I tell ya? Eh, mon?" he said as he passed the mug to Gurok. "Are ya gonna tell me da details, or do I gotta wait till ya drunk to pry dem out?"

Gurok reluctantly informed the troll of the happenings of that afternoon, his frown growing deeper at every interjection of 'I told ya so, mon'.

"Dems crafty elves, mon. Told ya as much," Tablah said. He let his eyes slip shut as he nodded sagely, his dark red braids bobbing with the motion.

"Yes," the orc said sourly. "So you did." He shifted his weight to his other foot and grunted. "He hasn't been in here yet, has he? I need to hold his head under the water outside until he admits where he stashed those things," the orc growled.

"Nah, not yet. But he comes aroun' late," Tablah said as he idly stroked his one remaining tusk. He grinned savagely. "Hey, lemme watch when ya do get down ta da business, eh? I can' prove nuttin', but I _swear_ dat elf keeps stealin' ma mugs."

* * *

Gurok whiled away the hours, nursing the various drinks that Tablah provided him with and wishing he had something better to do than wait for Arastel to _possibly_ show up.

Like other shady sorts, Arastel was off of the records. Gurok had no idea where the elf lived (if, indeed, he called any place home at all) or where he might spend his time, aside from the few places that he had observed the rogue frequenting in the past.

The elf had taken to visiting Tablah's bar within the last few weeks, and so Gurok sat at his usual table (one of a few that the troll had brought in just for large patrons like him, who required significantly more support than his typical troll and goblin customers) with his back to the wall and his gaze trained on the entrance.

He watched trolls come in droves after sundown, filling the room with clinking and talking and laughter, with a handful of goblins and tauren mixed in. As he scanned the crowd, he felt very much like he was on duty again.

The place was busy. Gurok noted with a smile that Tabah's business had picked up substantially. Soon he would need to hire a few hands to help tend to the customers.

When his mug had gone dry for a fourth or fifth time- Tablah never kept track of his tab, so neither did he- Gurok noticed how swamped the troll bartender was and simply went to the bar and reached over to refill his mug himself. This brew was something of tauren make; it was mild and sweet and reminded him much of Mulgore's grassy fields.

He had quested there, once, long ago. A tauren hunter named Dala had run into him- quite literally- as they both worked their way through one of the pigmen's winding caves, and they had taken to adventuring together all throughout Mulgore and the Barrens together.

She had shown him the budding yellow flowers that her people sometimes chewed while on the hunt to stave off hunger, delicate and mildly sweet, much like this brew. They had nibbled on the petals as they rested in between kills, and at her behest he had taken off his boots to feel the lush grass against his feet; it was so unlike anything he had known in Durotar or the Barrens.

But that was a long time ago, and she was dead and he was lingering at the bar and staring into space like one of the haunted Northrend veterans. The orc shook his head and plodded back to his chair to resume his watch of the door.

"What are you up to?" a familiar voice asked from somewhere above his left shoulder.

The orc glanced up and saw the lithe little rogue hanging from the rafters by the window, clinging to the ceiling like some impish little bat.

A frown settled over his lips at the sight of the vexing elf- the chink in his armor, the cause of his current predicament, the bane of his unremarkable life. The rogue was lucky that he was out of reach, and that Gurok felt just slightly too drunk and wobbly to stand up on the table and lunge at him, for the urge to box him right on those long, bouncy little ears grew overwhelmingly intense for a moment.

After a few long seconds, Gurok felt a torpid calm return to him. He had spent the last few hours dreaming up ways to punish the thoughtless elf and reclaim Hellscream's axes, but now, confronted with Arastel in the flesh, he found his resolve weakening. The elf's presence had a tendency to do that to his resolve. It was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

Gurok grunted and pulled his recently refilled mug closer; he sipped at the thick layer of foam that threatened to spill over the sides, eyeing the blood elf as he considered a course of action. "Drinking," he said at last, still undecided as to how to handle the unscrupulous rogue. "And looking for you."

The elf made no sound as he slipped from the rafters. Glancing around, the orc realized that he probably hadn't been noticed crawling around on the ceiling at all. Blast him for actually being a good rogue.

He could smell Arastel draw near. Silent though he was- padding along on sure, nimble feet- he could not disguise his scent. The air always seemed to change when the elf arrived, as if making space to accommodate his overwhelming presence.

His smell flooded the air, crisp and warm and tangy, like leather left to sit in the sun. Gurok's ears rang and his skin tingled. Was it normal for a rogue to be overwhelming? Shouldn't they, as masters of stealth and sneaking, be _under_whelming?

_What does that have to do with anything?_ he asked himself, feeling his brow creasing. _How many of you have I had?_ he asked as he glared at the stein.

"I am a little drunk," he said aloud.

"I thought as much," the rogue said with a hint of amusement.

He felt Arastel settle into the chair next to him. His slender legs were close enough for Gurok to feel their heat, but never once brushed against his own.

"It's because of you," he continued, though he wasn't sure why. His tongue felt thick and heavy, and then all he could think of was the elf's tongue, small and pink as it darted out to wet his lips on Durotar days so hot that they could make the elves' soft, delicate skin crack.

"Oh?" the elf asked, his slender eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Arastel seemed genuinely puzzled, and that _infuriated_ Gurok.

"Yes," he hissed, slamming one of his fists against the table, momentarily startling the whole bar. As the chatter and conversation quickly resumed, he continued. "You lied to me. You _used_ me, stealing those axes," he growled, whipping his head around to face the elf, who had suddenly sombered. "I've… I had half a mind to tan your hide," he added, fighting off the slur that was starting to work its way into his speech.

"They noticed they're gone?" the rogue asked quietly, his brow furrowed with concern. "And they're upset?"

"They knew five minutes after you left," Gurok said icily. "And of course they're upset. _I'm_ upset. You can't just… _take_ things from Garrosh Hellscream," he sputtered. "Don't elves know that? Everyone else knows that. Don't you?" he hissed.

"Hellscream?" Arastel whispered, his normally golden skin draining of color.

"Yes. Hellscream's axes. Didn't you know?" Gurok asked haltingly. "Those were his old ones from Outland. The Mag'har made them. They're traditional-"

"N-no, _of course_ I didn't know," the elf said at once, looking nearly as flustered as the orc felt. "How would I know that? They were just sitting on a workbench in the armory-"

"They were taken down to be polished," the orc groaned, his head already aching and his rage beginning to simmer again. "Next time, don't steal something unless you know its value. Actually, no," he added, leaning forward until his nose was inches from the rogue's. "There won't _be_ a 'next time'. You profited on my foolishness, but no more. You're going to give me back Hellscream's axes and then I never want to see you near Grommash Hold again."

The elf swallowed thickly and then nodded once. "I… I sold them already. I can try to get in contact with the buyer again. I… I'll get them back," he said hurriedly.

The orc nodded slowly. "You will. And I will come with you. I need to make sure this gets done," he rumbled.

Arastel pressed his lips together, his normally grinning mouth thinning into a sharp line. "I understand."

Getting the elf's cooperation was far less difficult than Gurok had imagined it would be. In a way, he was disappointed. It would have been much easier to continue to rage at the elf had he not been so willing to oblige him. Had he not looked so guilty and apologetic.

The orc shook his head and reminded himself that Arastel had used him repeatedly and that it would likely cost him his position this time. All in all, he would end up worse off while the elf would doubtlessly find another guard to charm.

"We should move quickly. Are you well to walk?" the elf asked after a minute or so, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I am fine enough," the guard said at once. He would sober up quickly- he always did. And while that had been an inconvenience in times past, when he had to spend twice the coin that others did on alcohol just to stay properly drunk, it would now work in his favor. "Lead on, elf."

* * *

But the axes had already been sold- not once, but twice. A little bribery and intimidation had gotten them the name of the most recent buyer, and with any luck the weapons might still be in the possession of an enterprising young goblin by the name of Betila.

It was a long and awkward walk to the sketchy corner of Orgrimmar that the goblin operated out of. Gurok tried to hold on to his indignation and anger as he clomped alongside the little elf, but by the time they reached her door he was mostly exhausted.

A pair of large, yellow-tinged eyes peered at them from behind a slat when they knocked. A female goblin's bored, nasally voice greeted them. "What's your business?"

Arastel took a step closer and leaned in, and Gurok wondered if the handsome grin he was sporting would carry in his voice. "We're here about the axes you recently acquired," the rogue said in a low, pleasant tone.

He was met with silence.

"We would like to buy them- take them off of your hands," he said with an easy shrug. "We'll give you whatever you paid for them _and then some_," he added with a wink.

"No."

The elf straightened up, his features stiffening just the slightest bit. "You might reconsider after learning of their past. You see, these weapons were stolen. From Garrosh Hellscream. The _Warchief_," he clarified, frowning when the goblin seemed unfazed by this fact.

"Yeah, I know. Any idiot could see that these are his old axes."

That took the wind out of Arastel's sails. Gurok pushed the indignant rogue aside and put his face up against the slat. "Listen, goblin. I'm of the Kor'kron-"

"Then it's _your_ fault these things got stolen in the first place, isn't it?" she interrupted, meeting the warrior's sharp gaze unflinchingly. "Not. My. Problem."

"Open this door at once!" the orc ordered.

"_No_," she sneered, her eyes and tone mocking.

Gurok felt himself being shoved back by the rogue. Arastel squeezed himself between the warrior and the door, leaving the orc torn between yelling at Betila and concentrating on the elf flush against him.

"You'll be well compensated," the rogue said hurriedly. "Fifty gold over whatever you paid for them."

"Sorry, hon. I already got a buyer lined up and he's offered me a small fortune for these puppies." Betila cocked her head apologetically. "No buybacks."

"Betila. _Betila_," Arastel said in the most dignified yet pleading tone that Gurok had ever heard. "It's… rather important," the rogue said with a hint of a smile. "Perhaps we could outbid this other person."

"Unlikely. Now go take your roguish good looks and charming persuasiveness elsewhere, pal. It's not gonna happen."

Arastel frowned deeply at the rebuff, glancing up to Gurok for direction.

The orc groaned, wondering if the handsome rogue had received so little rejection in his life that he had no idea what course of action to take if his looks and personality _didn't_ immediately sway people to his side.

"You are a cunning businesswoman," the orc conceded as he stared the goblin squarely through the slat. "Perhaps… we could arrange some manner of trade," he said with an attempt at diplomacy. He felt reasonably assured that if presented with a good enough bargain, the goblin would hand them over.

"Trade, huh?" They could see her tapping her chin with one long, purple-nailed finger. "What sort of trade did you have in mind?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Some sort of service. I am a skilled guard and good with an axe or sword. Surely you have need of such things."

"A warrior? Hired blades of your kind come cheap, friend," she said with a hint of apology. "This buyer's apparently got quite a thing for our Warchief. He's offering me upward of eight-hundred gold for this addition to his collection. I need a competitive offer," Betila said, looking expectantly at the two of them.

"I… do not have that sort of gold." Gurok shifted uncomfortably. Service in the Kor'kron was a matter of honor and pride, not a career aimed at earning coin. "I could- I have saved nearly two-hundred. If you would let me owe you, I could pay you the full sum over time," he suggested, hoping he sounded less desperate than he was.

"Look, you seem like a nice guy and all," she began, sounding both a little impatient and a little sorry, "but it doesn't make business sense, y'know? That's all. It's just business. Unless you can get together-"

"I have five-hundred," the elf said suddenly.

The goblin and the orc both turned to stare at him, the latter doing so with a slackened jaw.

"Excuse me, handsome?" Betila said at once, sounding a little breathless.

"I have five-hundred gold. Right here in Orgrimmar, too- you could have it straightaway. That's seven-hundred between the two of us. Plus his services. Plus mine. More than a fair trade, don't you agree?"

Gurok could see the goblin crunching the numbers and weighing her options. Her head bobbed once, slowly, and then a second time with more resoluteness. "Alright. Okay. That could work," she said, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "Let's get this all worked out in writing first, shall we? Then you can bring me your gold and I'll front you the axes. Then you both owe me one week's worth of work or one life-threatening task. Whichever I require."

As soon as the orc nodded, the sounds of numerous locks and bolts being undone could be heard. As he was let inside, Gurok felt a quick, fluttering sense of elation at being so close to returning the Bleeding Crescents.

Hope began to well up inside him, though he knew it unwise to let it do so. Perhaps he wouldn't lose his job. Maybe everything would work out. Arastel certainly seemed true to his word of aiding him in retrieving the axes.

Gurok couldn't entirely fathom why the elf would be willing to offer up so much gold on his behalf. Perhaps he was just terrified of Hellscream. He couldn't blame Arastel if so- Gurok himself found the Warchief quite intimidating. Still, regardless of the motivations, it was an offer that the warrior was grateful for.

He couldn't help but stare at the odd, confounding elf with a bit of admiration as he scribbled out an IOU and signed away his next week.

* * *

They walked in silence to his home first, clinging to the sparsely lit walkway through the residential area of the Valley of Honor.

Arastel stood quietly by as he went about collecting pouches of coins from all of his hiding places within the house. The orc couldn't find it in himself to be concerned about the thief seeing- after all, these were his life's savings. In their entirety. There would be no gold left to steal after tonight.

"You have a lovely home," the elf commented quietly as they readied to leave.

Gurok was ready to snarl at him, so used to dealing with the visiting blood elf diplomats and their condescending 'compliments'. But Arastel was generally quite sincere, unlike his obnoxious brethren. It was one of the reasons he had liked the elf in the first place.

"It is… enough," he said awkwardly.

The elf nodded and moved to touch a wooden carving of a wolf that rested on his table. "Did you make this?"

He grunted and nodded. "And the table as well."

"Oh," the rogue said in surprise, stooping to better examine the piece of furniture. "Impressive. You could do well as a carpenter."

Gurok waved off the flattery. "It is only a hobby of mine."

"Doesn't make you any less skilled," Arastel mumbled as he ran his fingers across the table.

"Let's go," the warrior sighed, opening the door and beckoning the rogue to exit. "I'd like to take care of this quickly."

* * *

Gurok couldn't deny that a part of him was excited to finally see where the elusive rogue made his home.

He had only been to Silvermoon once before. Though he generally felt very out of place there and didn't care much for elven culture, he held a slight fascination for the exotic flair of the city. It was strange and soft and luxurious, so unlike everything he had ever known.

He had expected Arastel's home to have some of the same touches as the brothel he had visited in Silvermoon- gauzy curtains, plush carpets, and more pillows than could possibly be necessary. Lingering smoke, maybe, and candles that might be lit by magic. One of those enchanted brooms, perhaps.

He was quite disappointed by the dump that Arastel led him to.

If this was where the rogue had been living for the past half a year, then he supposed it only made sense that he would be so impressed with his own tiny but comfortable abode.

Arastel made his home in a tiny room within a haphazardly constructed building in the goblin slums, which contained only a bedroll, a variety of weapons, a sizeable pile of leather scraps, a bag with various beauty products spilling out of it, and a stack of mugs that looked suspiciously similar to the ones used in Tablah's bar.

Arastel grabbed a pouch from behind a loose chunk of wall and then turned back to the orc. "The rest I'll need to go to the bank for. You can come with if you like, or you can wait here. I'll get some breakfast while I'm out."

"I will wait, if you don't mind," he said quietly, having felt thoroughly drained for the last few hours.

"That's perfectly fine," Arastel said with a tentative smile. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmured as he slipped out.

Gurok nodded slowly as he surveyed the tiny room.

He sat down and rested his back against one of the walls, letting his eyes slip shut. It had been a long night preceded by a terrible day, and he was worn.

He had expected Arastel's scent to be strongest in this place, but perhaps he did not spend as much time here as Gurok had supposed. _He must drift around the city, coming here only to sleep._ Home in the barest sense of the word.

Not that he could blame the elf. It was not an inviting place, and the smell of the slums pervaded everything. Damp and faintly sour, with an underlying note of… gunpowder? Probably. _Goblins_.

It was a strange place. Not a place for Arastel to be. It didn't suit him, and the orc found the thought of the grinning, devious little rogue being cooped up in this place distasteful.

He fell asleep to thoughts of Silvermoon, and he awoke to the pungent smell of cheese.

He lurched forward, blinking rapidly as he tried to recall his location.

"Relax," he heard a voice say softly- _the_ voice, his mind corrected, and for a moment his heart leapt wildly. Then his mind corrected that, too, reminding him that _this_ instance of waking up to Arastel's voice was not the sort he daydreamed about.

"I was tired," he explained with a stretch.

"So I saw," the elf replied with a soft grin. He handed the orc a chunk of bread topped with a wedge of cheese.

Gurok took it gratefully, bowing his head slightly. "You had no trouble getting the gold?"

"No, none," Arastel said with a half smile.

He looked tired. There were dark half-moons under his half-lidded eyes, and underneath all of the freckles he seemed to have gone pale. Gurok realized that the elf had stayed up all night on his account.

"Thank you. For not… just leaving." The orc rubbed at his broad jaw, feeling stubble already coming in. "For, uh, sticking around and helping me with this. And agreeing to all that work. And the gold. All of that."

The elf shifted from his crouching position, settling down on the floor across from Gurok. "Of course. It is, as you said, my fault," the rogue said with an apologetic look. "It's really the least I can do… to help you keep your job. If they will even let you," he added, biting his lip.

The orc knew that he should have been more upset at the mention of his possible dishonoring and dismissal from his position, but Arastel's reddened lips were very distracting. "I… well, it is done. All that matters is fixing what can be fixed."

Arastel nodded slowly. "You are a most reasonable person," he said as he nibbled on his own piece of bread. "I know that it means less- words, I mean, in comparison to action- but I _am_ sorry. For whatever that is worth."

"I appreciate that," the orc said at once. He nodded as he finished chewing a bit of cheese. "I did not anticipate… you have been very forthright and helpful. You have done more than I would have expected. Not just from you, but from anyone. Most people wouldn't have tried this hard to put things right."

The elf stared at him for a few long seconds. It made Gurok slightly nervous, but he figured that after all the times he had stared at the elf he had little room to complain about it.

They ate their breakfasts in silence, Gurok staring at his boots and trying to ignore the pointed glances that the elf kept giving him.

"I know what they say about me," the elf said once they had both finished eating. He was not looking at Gurok now, but staring up at one of the walls. "And people like me," he added with a soft frown, his slender, golden eyebrows knitted together thoughtfully. "But, so you know, I wasn't just using you. I mean, it was a very nice setup, I will not deny that," he said quickly, "but I was not… friendly to you because of that. I'm not _that_ horrible… and I would rather stay in your good graces than make off with a bit more gold."

One side of Gurok's mouth turned up at that. "It was a lot of gold, though, wasn't it?"

"For those axes? Yes," the rogue said with a quick smile. "I handed them off for four-hundred. I would have held onto them longer had I known some moronic fanatic was willing to shell out over eight-hundred for them, though." He let out a low whistle.

The orc gave him a nod and a small smile. "So a hundred of that gold was from your own savings? Out of the five-hundred for Betila," he clarified, nodding in the direction of the sizable sack of coins.

"Yes. I consider it my fine," the elf said, giving the gold-stuffed bag a soft pat, "for getting greedy. You stuck your neck out for me and I, ah, well… I did something stupid."

"It happens," the warrior said after a long pause. He smiled grimly.

"What if they make you leave the Kor'kron?" Arastel asked suddenly.

"You're worried about that?" the orc asked with raised brows.

"Of course I am," the elf snapped. He turned away from Gurok and stared resolutely at the wall. After several seconds his shoulders sagged and he slumped dejectedly. "I mean, of course. I got you into this bind. I don't have any way to make it up to you, really, but I do have a cousin in the trade business, and they always need guards for their caravans. It wouldn't pay very well at all, but if you have no other prospects…"

"I will keep that in mind."

"Should we head back to Betila now?" the elf asked after a few minutes.

The orc waved off the words. He was a bit worried for time, true, but Arastel looked exhausted. He never seemed particularly well rested to begin with, as though he was always running on two or three hours of sleep. _Which he might have been,_ the orc supposed.

It seemed that last night's deprivation of rest had hit the little elf hard, and he was loath to march him across town. "An hour will not hurt anything," the orc said gruffly.

"An hour… an hour sounds nice," the rogue said slowly, his head tipping back and his eyes fluttering shut.

Gurok stared at the elf's bare neck in unconcealed fascination- long and pale and- yes, lined with the faintest of scars. The orc felt along his own face, his fingers finding the curve of raised, discolored flesh that stretched from his jaw to the corner of his left eye.

Different sorts of scars for different sorts of folk. It looked as though some other rogue had tried to kill Arastel in their typical underhanded manner, slipping up from behind and slitting the throat, never even looking their victim in the eye.

He felt along the scar across his cheek again. It was one of many that he had, but perhaps his proudest- earned in single combat against a dwarf warrior when he was young. The dwarf had been his first taste of battle against the Alliance, and he did not mind it one bit. Even as he felt the warrior's axe catch him in the jaw and sweep up across his face, he felt a grudging and growing respect for the short pink-skin and the rest of his people.

Arastel looked so peaceful there, slumbering lightly in a sitting position, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. Sometimes it was difficult to recall that he was actually older than the orc and had seen just as much, if not more, bloodshed.

His hair reminded the orc of the tall, golden grasses of the Barrens and how they swayed gracefully as the wind blew across the plains. It was fine and soft-looking, and sometimes when he got close enough he could smell that it was clean and scented with peacebloom and one of the milder varieties of Stranglethorn vanilla. Only sometimes, though- just as often, it only smelled of _him_. Clean like rainwater and mostly masked by leather and maybe smoke.

The orc figured that the perfumed soap only got used when he had no jobs lined up. Scent could be a huge giveaway in a line of work like the rogue's, although Gurok doubted most of his potential victims were as attuned to the elf's aroma as he was, picking up the slightest hint like a worg hot on the blood trail.

Gurok exhaled silently, not wanting to accidentally wake his companion with a sigh.

There was nothing to do in this room but look at the sleeping elf. Not that that was necessarily _bad_. Arastel was beautiful. Not in the way the orcish men and women that he had eyed while growing up had been beautiful. Orcs were hard muscle and strong planes, as bold, aggressive and blunt in love as they were in all else. They were beautiful as mountains were, for dominating the skyline and drawing the eye through sheer force of presence. Stark and proud and _fierce_.

Arastel reminded him of Dala, the tauren hunter from his youth. He did not seem spiritual, as she was, but there was a familiar sense of calm and flexibility with him, an easy sort of joy. A willingness and open mindedness that he had found endearing in Dala. They were like winding rivers and babbling brooks- more easily overlooked, but a pleasure to be around once discovered.

_They probably would have liked each other,_ he thought with a small smile.

At once the elf startled awake, his brilliantly green eyes snapping open as he jolted up.

Gurok shrank back for an instant, his ears growing hot. For some reason he worried that the elf had been privy to his thoughts, that he had been disturbed from his slumber by the realization that an orc was investing _far_ too much time in contemplation of him.

It was impossible, he knew- Arastel was no mind reader. Still, he was glad that his thoughts had not been of a lewd nature. How much more awkward that would feel.

"I am sorry," the elf said blearily. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and Gurok's attention was drawn to the smattering of freckles there. "Did I oversleep?"

"Not at all," the orc mumbled, glancing up at the tiny hole in the wall that passed for a window. "Has not been a full hour, even."

"Well, now is as good a time to go as any. The construction will start up again soon, and there's no sleeping through that racket," he said as he rubbed at his eyes. "Just let me clean up first."

Gurok stood and stretched out his cramped limbs while the elf washed his face and brushed out his hair before pinning it up in a bun.

He felt bad for staring at the rogue as he readied himself, like he was trying to look in on something personal. His gaze darted around before settling on the massive bag of gold sitting in the middle of the room.

It looked hefty. He wondered at how safe they would be lugging that across town. _Perhaps we had better divide it up into a few bags,_ he thought.

Quite a lot of gold for living in such sparse conditions. He had to wonder at the rogue's choice of living space when he was clearly making a substantial profit with his thefts from the hold.

"Are you hoping to gain something by glaring at that bag?" the elf asked with a crooked smile.

"You hoard your gold," the orc commented with a careful look. "Like a goblin. Why don't you spend it on somewhere nicer to live?"

The elf's cheeks and ears grew red. "It would sound silly to you."

"I don't think it would."

"It is… silly."

"I am even more curious now than before," Gurok said with a slight tilt of his head.

Arastel sighed. "I took up leatherworking some time ago. You know, just to be able to fix my clothes and make my own from time to time. I don't have the mastery of a professional, of course, but… I'm not bad at it."

"Did you make these?" the orc asked, gesturing to the elf's attire.

Arastel laughed. "Well, all of it except for the gloves. I can't quite figure them out, to be honest," he said with a slightly embarrassed grin. "They always end up looking like I made them for a troll or a tauren… as an aside, I am much sought after for my leatherworking skills by the druid community. Perhaps that will be my niche market."

The orc smiled softly.

"Anyway, I… well, I don't want to do this forever. Adventuring and thieving. I liked it. Seeing the world, killing new and exciting monsters, meeting fun and interesting people that would later betray me. It was very nice. But what I would really like to do is just… quit. And open a leatherworking shop."

"In Orgrimmar or Silvermoon?"

"Orgrimmar," the elf said with a wistful look. "I wouldn't turn my nose up at a location in Silvermoon, but I haven't been back there in a very long time. Doubt I'd be welcome, besides. And Orgrimmar's just better all around anyway- easier to come by leather, more traffic, fewer snotty city guards all but prostrating themselves in front of every paladin to saunter past. Business would be good here."

"Hmmm." Gurok took a moment to let his gaze rove up and down the elf, thankful for the excuse of appreciating his craft. The leather was pleasing to the eye, with swirled designs carefully tooled into the material and dark studs dotting the edges. And it _fit_. Oh, how it fit. Suddenly, the way that his pants and chest piece always seemed to cling to every inch of him made sense- the rogue tailored his own clothing, and he did so almost sinfully well.

"This set is getting a bit worn out," the elf sighed, running hands over the material covering his thighs almost sadly. "I can only repair it for so long before it must be replaced."

Gurok was thankful that he caught himself before he asked what the rogue did with his old clothes because, well, that was an odd and perverted thing to ask. But he still wanted to know. Purely for the sake of knowing. Not for collecting.

"Well," the orc drawled, forcing himself to tear his eyes from the lovely sight of Arastel running his hands all over his leather chestpiece to check for wear and tear, "I think that is an admirable goal. It's… unfortunate that this cost will be setting you back," he said sincerely. "I know that getting a storefront here is not cheap."

"Yes, it's quite ridiculous, isn't it? But I do not mind," he assured the orc as he strapped half a dozen knives to himself. "I've waited this long. It won't kill me to wait a bit longer."

The elf's smile was warm. It made Gurok's heart seize up- but not like it had when he'd first seen the Dark Portal. Not like it had when he'd first laid eyes on Nagrand, or when he had been selected by Thrall himself to join the Kor'kron, or when he'd first kissed Dala. This was an entirely different heart-stopping feeling, like his core just tightened and froze in anticipation of something more.

Arastel was still smiling. "So?" he asked slowly, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Uh…"

"I asked if you were ready to go." It sounded like he was stifling a chuckle.

"Y-yes. Ready," the warrior mumbled, already headed for the door.

"Here, you keep most of the gold on you," Arastel said as he passed two heavy bags to the orc. "You look more intimidating."

"Didn't stop _you_ from trying to pickpocket me," Gurok said with a half-smile.

The rogue glanced down, unable to hide his grin. "Well, fortunately for us, most people aren't so bold."

* * *

Betila was only too eager to hand over the axes when they presented her with four bulging bags of gold.

"Here are your assignments," she said as she handed each of them a card. The neat lettering informed them of when to leave, where to go, who to speak to, and what to do. "And I'm sure you understand that _privacy_ is important for me and my customers. Whatever you see or hear… well, _you didn't see or hear it_. Got me?"

They nodded.

"And if either of you skips out on this, I will ruin you."

They nodded again.

"Alright, you crazy guys," she said more jovially, slugging Gurok on the thigh and grinning. "You go return those axes and have a nice night off."

They bade her goodnight and tromped out of her little headquarters.

"Alright. Now how are you going to sneak those back inside?" Arastel asked as they stood on Betila's doorstep.

Gurok stared down at the pair of massive weapons. They were not _particularly_ distinct- it was, after all, for sentimental value that Hellscream kept them close, not their own special attributes. He doubted the streets would fill with people clamoring at them as they would if it were, say, Gorehowl that he was carrying. But anyone who guarded the hold and frequented the armory would know them on sight.

"How did you sneak them out?" he asked roughly.

"I was stealthed," the elf sighed. He ran a gloved hand through his long bangs, pushing them back and out of his eyes. "I could try returning them the same way, if you like."

The warrior cast him a sidelong glance. "Unlikely. You stole them with my help in the first place. There is an elite at my post now, one that would not let you slip past. No," he said, shaking his head. "You would be discovered."

"Then what?" the elf asked quickly, his tone bordering on agitation.

The orc rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, thinking. "Hm. Come with me."

* * *

"Bloodtusk. I was not aware that there was to be a delivery today. Nor that you would be deliverer," the Kor'kron at the entrance said gruffly. She peered out from under a hefty metal helmet, her dark amber eyes sharp as she scanned both of their faces. "Who is this? Have you been on leave? Your post has been filled by Terchog."

"I hired him to help me," Gurok explained, swinging his head in Arastel's direction. "And the captain said he needed a new cabinet for the officers' quarters. I had told him of how I make my own furniture and he asked that I take a day off to construct him something."

Jarat Blackbone nodded approvingly. "It is well crafted," she said as she considered the large wooden cabinet. "Though you might have hired someone more capable to aid you in transporting it."

Arastel was sweating bullets as he tried to support his half of the enormous piece of furniture. His slender arms were shaking from the strain, and it looked very much like he would have made a scathing retort if his jaw wasn't clenched shut from the effort of keeping the cabinet up.

"Perhaps we could hurry in before he passes out," Gurok suggested with a hopeful look at Jarat.

She sighed and nodded, stepping to the side so that they could pass. She barked a warning of their arrival down the entry way, telling the other guards to steer clear of the cumbersome cabinet as they navigated through the hold.

By the time they reached the officers' quarters, the elf's hold on the piece of furniture was tentative at best. He let his half of the cabinet hit the wooden planks of the floor with a resounding thud.

"Are you alright?" Gurok whispered, concerned as the elf stumbled toward the wall.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine," the rogue panted as he leaned heavily against the relatively cool metal and rubbed at the sore muscles of his arms.

The orc opened his mouth to commend Arastel for having carried it as far as he did, but at that moment the door to the officer's room swung open and Captain Nuar loomed in the doorway like a bear lumbering out of its cave.

His eyes were wide. "Bloodtusk!" he whispered harshly. "You have them?"

"They're inside, Captain," Gurok said quickly, patting the side of the cabinet.

The captain eyed them both warily and then stalked forward. He yanked open one of the cabinet doors and peered inside, then shut it quietly, apparently satisfied. He nodded to the elf. "You can leave."

Arastel glanced from the Kor'kron captain to Gurok and then back again. He peeled himself away from the wall, staggering slightly. "I was promised payment. I will stay with him to make sure he doesn't try to weasel his way out of it."

"Bloodtusk has enough honor to see you repaid for your efforts," Nuar said with an almost-sneer. "Leave us, elf. Stonebreaker will see you out," he added, bellowing for the guard to escort him away.

"I will meet you back at my house," Gurok said with a short nod. "I will pay you in full."

Arastel met his gaze, his eyes narrowed. He set his jaw, looking very much as though he was biting his tongue, as Stonebreaker came to take him. He let himself be led out, but he cast one look back at the orc before they turned the corner.

It was nearly dusk by the time Gurok had reached his home. He stopped about fifty paces from the house, intently watching the blonde elf that was pacing back and forth in front of the door like a madman.

After a few moments the rogue stopped and turned slowly in his direction.

"You could have gone in, you know," Gurok muttered as he approached the door, the key already in his hand.

"I figured the last thing you'd want me to do now is add breaking into your home to the list of ways I have wronged you," the elf said under his breath.

He followed Gurok inside without waiting for an invitation. He stayed on the orc's heels as he settled in and began setting down his weapons and putting various things away.

"So what happened?" he asked urgently.

"It is done," the orc said with a shrug. "Hellscream's Bleeding Crescents have been returned and he is none the wiser, I hope."

"You don't think the captain will expose you? I disliked him. I don't trust him," the rogue said quickly.

"None knew of the theft but he and I, and as the one in charge of the Hold at the time, I doubt he wishes to mention anything to the Warchief of security lapses," Gurok said as he sat down to begin unlacing his boots.

Arastel made a small noise acknowledging the reason of the orc's words, though he still looked vexed. "And… your status as one of the Kor'kron?" The elf was positively _gnawing_ on his lip at this point, worry etched into his expression- it was as though his own career was on the line rather than the orc's.

"I was quietly dismissed. I do not suspect the others will even know until I have been missing for a week or so," he said with a half shrug. "I doubt they will be torn up about it."

Arastel swallowed thickly and plunked down on the edge of the chair by the table. He buried his head in his hands and sighed. "I'm sorry, Gurok. I- I never meant- if I had known _this_ would hap-"

"It's alright, Arastel," he murmured quietly. He savored the name as he said it. He rarely used the elf's name- to his face, at least. What he mumbled when he was half-asleep was a different matter. "I… did not anticipate coming out of this with my rank intact." He gave the elf a half-hearted smile, unsure of how to feel at seeing him so distraught.

Arastel peered up. His gaze lingered on him, burning and intense. "You… hm." He swept a hand back through his dark blonde hair, his jaw hard as he considered. "I suppose it is time for me to go, then." It was a statement. No hint of questioning in his tone. "I can- I can leave the city entirely, if that would make you happier," he added quietly.

Gurok's head swiveled toward the elf. "What?"

Arastel glanced up at him and shrugged before pointedly staring away. "I did this. I broke your trust, lost you your savings, got you into a contract with a thoroughly unscrupulous trade princess, and now I've gotten you fired. You said you never wanted to see me near the Hold again- understandably. I think it reasonable that you not want to see me anywhere else, either."

"Arast-"

"It would be hard not to bump into you at all, so perhaps… I mean, I will do what needs to be done. I don't want to put you out any more than I already have. Though I'm not sure if that's _possible_. The only way I could ruin your life any more was if I killed you, I think."

Gurok sighed and rubbed at his face. It had been a tiring couple of days. "Arastel. I didn't mean that. Or, I did- you definitely shouldn't be lingering around Grommash Hold any longer, especially without me there- but I was… angry when I said that. Harsher, perhaps, than I meant to be. I had been stewing in my own thoughts and disgruntled emotions for a while at that point," he said in way of explanation. "I thought you had been callously using me and was speaking with that in mind. But you didn't."

"No, even worse," the rogue said quickly, shaking his head. "I jeopardized you out of my own folly. Thoughtless," he murmured, closing his eyes tight. "I single-handedly ruined a Kor'kron elite's life," he cried. "Ruined _everything_."

Gurok snorted. "You overact. My situation is not so bad."

"Not so bad? Not so bad?" the rogue asked in visible agitation. "You've been in the honor guard for _how long_? I just got you kicked out with absolutely zero recognition for all the years of service you put in-"

"Well, I had negated years of a spotless record by repeatedly allowing a handsome elf to sneak past me," the orc said under his breath.

"Once again- _my_ fault," the elf said at once. He groaned and dug his hands into his hair.

"No, it isn't," Gurok growled, momentarily startling the elf. The orc continued in a more gentle tone, "You would not have gotten inside had I not made the decision to allow it. You are good. But no one is _that_ good," he said with a soft smile. "You cast no spell over me. I did what I did because I let my emotions get the better of me. I do not really regret it," he added simply.

"You don't?" the rogue asked warily.

"No. I was dismissed, yes, and that is not pleasant," he admitted as he peeled off the chainmail he had been wearing. "But luckily I was not _dismissed_, in the sense of being dropped from one of the zeppelin towers or having my head removed."

"So… it could have been worse?" the elf ventured, the corner of his mouth turning up the barest bit. "You're okay with this because _it could have been worse_?"

"It is not as though I got nothing out of this ordeal," the warrior said lowly, "despite all that I lost. I will find new work. I will save again. My reputation, little-known as it was to begin with, will recover. And perhaps I will find a new calling while working for Betila."

"You… you don't despise me, then?" Arastel rocked back and forth in his chair, anxious and hopeful.

"Of course I don't," the orc muttered. "This nonsense with you was the one pleasant thing I've had these last two days. I certainly don't wish you to leave the city."

"You don't?"

"No," he said with finality. He appraised the elf carefully. "Unless… this is your way of telling me that you _want_ to leave?"

"No, no, not at all," the elf said quickly. He smiled broadly, looking relieved with the turn of events. "I just… I have done much less to people and had them hate me, after all. No one has ever, ah, treated me like this."

"Like what?" the orc asked curiously.

The rogue shrugged uneasily. "You gave me a second chance."

"You wanted one," Gurok said with a responding shrug. "Few and far between are those who are truly willing to try and make amends, and I would be a fool to spurn someone that is."

The elf nodded and hummed lowly.

"Besides, you can't leave," the orc reminded him with a small smile. "Betila has us both by the balls. You skipping town would doubtlessly end up rebounding on me."

Arastel laughed for a long while. He had to wipe at the corner of his eyes before speaking. "Light, yes," he chuckled. "Everything that I do _does_ seem to come back and bite _you_ in the arse, after all."

"True. I think the only solution is to keep you close, then," the orc said lightly, "and out of trouble. I don't know how well I could handle any more at the moment."

Arastel smiled at him and it was like he'd been struck by a shaman's lightning. His chest was tight and he felt like he needed to gasp for air. Like a punch to the gut, but _pleasant_.

"I'm afraid I can't argue there," the elf agreed with a cheeky grin. "I'm too much of a handful for myself sometimes," he added with a little laugh.

The warrior let out a low chuckle and shifted awkwardly. Arastel was here. In his house. Being… pleasant.

In the lengthy silence that followed, he looked everywhere in the room except at the elf. And he kicked himself for it.

'_Gurok, you are a proud son of the Horde! You've slain demons! Stopped assassins! You backhanded the head off of a zombie during that outbreak before Northrend! This is your chance! Feel no fear! Ask him to stay ask him to stay ask him to stay-'_

"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow? M-maybe, if we received assignments that involve working together, I mean," was what he said instead, much to his frustration. _Rrrraaaaugh._

"And if not, then there's always Tablah's place," he continued, though he could not fathom why words that were not 'will you stay for a bit' were coming out of his mouth. _Hrrrrrnnnng._

The elf was biting his lip. "I'm, ah, banned from there, actually. The troll said that if he sees me again he'll put his one remaining tusk to good use," he explained, looking vaguely horrified at that prospect.

"I can talk him out of that," Gurok said with a sympathetic look. "Just… stop stealing his mugs."

"Certainly," Arastel said with a cordial smile. "I think I have enough now, anyway."

The orc smiled softly.

_I just lost my job._

_I'm out two-hundred gold and I have no job._

_I have to do favors for a shifty little goblin and I lost all my savings and I have no job._

_Why am I not more upset?_

"So, I peeked at your card when she handed it to you. And at her ledger," Arastel added with a waggle of his eyebrows, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're both starting out escorting a chest of questionable artwork and valuables to a buyer in Razor Hill, then we go our separate ways. So I'll see you at sunup? We can head to the pickup together. I'll grab some breakfast for us along the way over here."

"By 'grab' do you mean 'steal'?"

The rogue smiled and turned away, not even acknowledging the question.

This. This was why he hadn't given into shame and despair and set sail for some desolate outpost where he would never be recognized.

"I'll see you at dawn, then." He could think of no better way to begin his day.

* * *

**Just the first part of a story for one of the OC pairs that I have way too many headfictions about. :D**


	2. Chapter 2

Arastel had shown up promptly at sunrise, a beaming grin on his face and a slab of cold meat in each hand.

"Good morning," Gurok greeted tiredly. He had spent the better part of the night reliving their conversation and imagining what he _should_ have said and all the wonderful ways the night could have ended if he was quick witted and charming. He took one of the chunks of pork and nodded in thanks.

"It's a nice day," the elf said as they began to walk to the Azshara entrance of Orgrimmar to pick up the crate they were to transport. "Not going to get too hot, I suspect."

"Let's hope not," the warrior said under his breath. He had dressed in some of his nicer clothing and armor, hoping to make a good impression on his first day as an ex-Kor'kron in Betila's service. Unfortunately, the tight collar and thick material were already beginning to make him feel stifled.

Their assigned pickup point was a dingy little building set close to the canyon wall. They collected the package from a jumpy little goblin and then headed south again. It was still early, and the streets were just beginning to grow thick with merchants, soldiers, and visiting adventurers. What few people they passed were quick to step aside for the bulky orc and his cargo.

Gurok shifted the large crate so that it rested more securely on his shoulder. "Where are you going?" he asked as the rogue blithely continued walking past the path leading to the stables.

"Toward Razor Hill?" Arastel turned and answered slowly, as if Gurok had forgotten their destination. His slender brows were raised expectantly as he gestured for the warrior to follow.

"My wolf is in the stables-"

"You have a wolf?" The elf's open-mouthed grin caught Gurok off guard.

"Of course. Don't you have one of those birds?" He used his free hand to make a fluttering motion, which he hoped conveyed the nature of the delicate, flighty little mounts of the blood elves.

"No. I never, ah, had enough gold for one. By the time I'd gotten enough, I didn't feel like going back to Silvermoon for some silly hawkstrider. Not really my style."

"So you've walked _everywhere_?" The warrior let out a low whistle and raised his broad brows.

"I have. The upkeep on a body like this is _work,_ after all," Arastel purred. He grinned as the orc quickly averted his eyes from said body. "Truth be told, I was hoping to do enough favors around Orgrimmar that, you know… someone would let me have a wolf." He bit his lip as he glanced sideways at the orc. "I just… I mean, how do you even go about that, though? Do I need to talk to the guy that raises them, or… the Warchief?" he added in a dramatically hushed whisper.

The orc laughed and shook his head. "You want a wolf? _As your mount_?" He proceeded up the hill in the direction of the stables, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the elf jogging to catch up.

"Yes. I do. That is what I want," the rogue said with a resolute nod.

"A blood elf on a wolf," Gurok mused. "And you're _sure_ you're not joking?"

"I'm really not. So will they try to skewer me just for asking?" Arastel asked quickly, his shoulders already sagging in defeat.

"If you were just any elf, perhaps," the orc said gruffly. "Fortunately, you are the friend of a friend of a close friend of Ogunaro. I'll try talking to him about it," he said with a shrug.

The elf stopped in his tracks. "Gurok," he said almost reverently, grabbing the orc's arm and forcing him to stop as well. His cheeks were tinged with pink and he fidgeted in a way that made Gurok swallow hard. "I- I… I don't know what to say. Or how to thank you. You do too much for me."

"Nonsense. You do not need to say anything. Or thank me." He smiled just a little. "Watching you try to ride a wolf will be thanks enough."

The elf struck him across the shoulder. "I'll have you know," he began with exaggerated anger, "I can ride with the best of- hm, well, I actually have _no_ riding experience to speak of, now that I think about it." He pursed his lips and kicked at the dirt. "Well, that is _sad_. I suppose it's time to go get some apprentice riding training with all of the wide-eyed, would-be adventurers. Ought to be fun," he said with a bright smile.

"Yes," the orc agreed. "So, were you planning to walk to Razor Hill?"

"Mmhmm."

"And after that?"

"Over to Ratchet."

"_Walking_."

"And swimming," the rogue supplied.

"Ridiculous!" Gurok laughed. "And you cannot ride?"

"I haven't learned, no," the elf said brusquely. "But it can't be that hard."

The orc snorted. "We'll see."

Gurok hailed the kennel master as they reached the stables. The older orc paced over and helped the warrior set down the heavy crate; Gurok bowed his head in thanks as he stretched and rolled his slightly aching shoulders.

"Gurok Bloodtusk," Ogunaro Wolfrunner said with a hint of a smile and a nod. "Here for Swiftpaw, are you?"

"I am, indeed," the warrior replied as he pulled out a coin pouch to compensate the kennel master for tending to his mount. "But I wish to ask you about something else as well," he said as he followed Ogunaro to the pen that housed his wolf.

"Oh?"

"The elf with me," he said as he turned halfway toward the rogue, still standing at the entrance of the kennel. "He has no mount whatsoever. He's been saving and waiting and hoping to get a wolf rather than one of the blood elves' birds."

"An elf?" the kennel master said lowly. He beckoned Swiftpaw over, who began yowling excitedly at the sight of her master. "An elf on one of our wolves?"

"He is not like most others," Gurok said carefully. "He plans to make Orgrimmar his home and open a leatherworking business here. I think he's worthy of your consideration. Just test him and you will see."

Ogunaro held up a hand to silence him. "I can always tell the character of an orc by his wolf," he said as he ran a withered hand over Swiftpaw's sleek light grey fur. "And I have known of you for many years. I trust in your judgment, Gurok," he said simply.

"Elf, come here," the grizzled orc hollered as he handed Swiftpaw's reins over to the warrior and then marched away.

"What's happening?" Arastel questioned as he came to stand by Gurok and Swiftpaw. The wolf sniffed him curiously; he smiled and offered up his palm for her to investigate his smell.

"Ogunaro is getting you a wolf, I think," the orc replied as he craned his neck to look for the kennel master.

"I don't see one," the elf murmured as Ogunaro made his way back to them. "Oh."

The older orc held a wriggling pup in his hands. It was dusty brown and _tiny_. "This is a runt. He'll be no good for an orc rider. Probably suit a little elf like you just fine," he said as he passed the fuzzy puppy to Arastel.

The rogue cradled him tenderly, rubbing the little wolf between the ears and smiling when it nibbled on his finger with needle-sharp milk teeth.

"Yes. It's a good fit," the kennel master said with an approving nod. He reached out to take the wolf pup back, snorting when Arastel bit his lip and reluctantly handed him over. "I will raise him and train him. Our wolves grow fast. Two, three months," he murmured as he examined the puppy. "Then he will be yours."

"How much?" the elf asked quickly.

"For a friend of Gurok?" Ogunaro asked with a yellow-toothed grin. "Twenty-five gold."

Arastel grinned and gave him an orcish style salute. "Thank you," he said gratefully, dipping his head a bit. "I will care for him well," he promised.

"Of that I am certain," the kennel master replied.

Swiftpaw whined and nuzzled Gurok's arm. He chuckled and ruffled the thick fur on her neck. "It appears she is impatient to head out," the warrior noted. He nodded a goodbye to Ogunaro and beckoned for Arastel to follow him. "We must go."

"Ancestors watch you," the older orc said as he returned to the tending of the wolves.

"Light, Gurok!" the rogue breathed as they left the kennel. "You're- I- you're just amazing," he said with a bit of laughter. "I never thought… wow. I should repay you somehow."

"As I said," the orc chuckled nervously, "there is no need for that."

"Nonsense," the elf said at once. "Name a favor and I will see that it is done."

"Arastel," Gurok groaned.

"It doesn't have to be now," the elf said as he tied up his long hair. "Just keep it in mind. I owe you."

The warrior grunted and shook his head as he led Swiftpaw along.

"So… what is our travelling situation now?" Arastel inquired as he walked on the other side of Swiftpaw, lengthening his strides to match those of the large orc and his monstrous wolf- even among the orcs' massive mounts, she was an impressive beast.

"What do you mean?"

"Should I take a wind rider instead?" the rogue asked quietly as they passed through the city's great front gates, the sounds of construction rattling the metal all around them. "I would hate to slow you two down."

Gurok grunted and shook his head. "You will ride with me. Swiftpaw is large and strong, and you are small and slight. She will not even notice your weight."

"If it's no trouble," the elf agreed, a wry smile pulling at his lips as he leapt and skipped to keep up with the pair.

The Dranosh'ar Blockade loomed over them as Gurok finished tightening the straps of Swiftpaw's saddle and tying their smaller items to her harness. The crate would have to be held as they rode, and he would have to take care to guide the wolf so that the ride was smooth.

He swung up onto the great wolf's back with practiced ease. "Hand me the crate," he ordered.

It took the elf a few moments to heave the large package up to the orc. He then prepared to clamber onto Swiftpaw- but she was not elf sized, he quickly discovered.

"Gurok," he gasped after his third attempt to board the wolf ended with him attracting stares as he kicked up a dust cloud upon falling.

The orc sniggered behind his hand. "Yes?" he asked politely, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Gurok! Assist me onto the wolf at once!" the rogue said in irritation, stomping one of his feet and crossing his arms indignantly. He looked dangerously close to turning his nose up at the whole situation.

"Ah, _there's_ the look I've come to expect from blood elves," Gurok teased, his tusks and pointed teeth bared as he grinned.

"And yet you wonder _why_ you get that look? Bloody orcs," Arastel muttered as he readied for another attempt, scowling at Gurok all the while. He hoisted up his leg and let his foot rest atop the warrior's, which was secure in the stirrup, prepared to try and swing up onto her back one more time. He held tight to the back of the saddle with one hand and to Gurok's belt with the other.

"Light help me, if I don't make it up this time, I'm bringing you down with me," he hissed.

The orc chuckled and before the rogue could act, he felt himself being lifted off the ground.

Gurok twisted in his seat to place the elf behind him in the saddle. "Happy?"

"Yes," Arastel replied brusquely, his tone still tinged with annoyance.

"Your wolf shouldn't be as difficult," the orc added, hoping that the elf's pride wasn't too wounded by the ordeal. He seemed so excited to have gotten himself an orcish mount, and it would be a shame if that joy was lessened by worries that he would need to carry a box with him just to climb aboard the creature.

"I should hope not," the rogue said with a sigh.

Gurok felt the elf slide forward until he was flush against his back. Chainmail and leather separated them, it was true, but it _felt_ like nothing at all. Arastel's heat and scent and weight was right there, pressed against him so close that he could feel every shift that the rogue made, every movement as he struggled to get comfortable in the broad saddle. Strong arms curled around his waist, wrapping tight as Arastel pulled himself even closer against him.

And then a stray finger brushed a stretch of exposed skin just above his hip, sweeping across just slowly enough that Gurok could feel his breath hitch as it happened.

"Here, make sure you hold this," he said immediately, because that had just been too much- he hoped that the desperate edge he heard in his voice wasn't _too_ noticeable. He passed the crate behind him, to Arastel, earning him a baffled noise and much grumbling as the elf slid back and made room between them for the precious crate.

Gurok sighed in relief. The package provided a nice buffer from the too-good contact of the elf at his back, saving him from what would certainly have been a very frustrating and agonizing ride otherwise.

They set out at a slow trot, heading for the red-rock canyon on the horizon, and the rogue's amicable chatter was just enough to keep Gurok from dwelling on the feel of warm, leather gloved hands against his shoulders.

* * *

The first delivery had been easy enough. A shady looking orc had come to the door of the hovel and seized upon the crate with almost frightening zeal, giving them both a wild eyed look as he retreated back inside with it and then slammed the door shut.

The warrior and the rogue had shared a bemused glance and shrugged before continuing on with their duties. At Gurok's behest, Arastel had opted to take a wind rider to Rachet rather than walking and swimming his way there, while the orc and Swiftpaw continued on to Sen'jin Village.

The warrior visited the local witch doctor and collected a dark sack of what smelled like herbs and dried blood, passed him a note from Betila, and then turned round and trotted Swiftpaw back to the village. The mysterious sack was in turn delivered to a wizened old troll with half an ear missing, who pressed a crumpled letter addressed to the goblin into his hand before limping off.

Gurok sighed as he tucked the envelope away.

"Only a few more days of this," he told Swiftpaw as they walked side-by-side up the pass toward Orgrimmar, rubbing one of her ears affectionately. "Then we'll be done with this strange lot. I didn't serve in Outland and spend years guarding the Warchief himself just to become a delivery pup."

The wolf whined in agreement and licked at him fondly.

The orc took a moment to pause and pour warm water from his waterskin into his cupped hand, letting Swiftpaw lap at the tiny measure of liquid. The ride wasn't terribly long, but it was a typical Durotar day and the air almost seemed to sizzle. He hoped the meager amount of water was enough to keep the panting wolf comfortable.

He wondered for a moment about Arastel and his delivery. He knew that the rogue could handle himself- he had gotten by for decades on his own, it seemed, and the last thing he needed was an orc's protection- but he felt an uncomfortable worry whenever the elf ventured out alone.

Whatever the elf's repute and behavior _now_, it was clear that his past was something else entirely. Knowing roguish types, it had been shady and rife with illegal dealings; knowing Arastel's scars, it had been violent in the most devious of ways. And Gurok feared the day that his old associations and entanglements would catch up with the rogue, if they hadn't already.

"Oh, Swift," he groaned just as Orgrimmar came into sight. "What am I doing, girl?"

Swiftpaw whimpered and nuzzled his hand, her large golden eyes turning on his concernedly. The orc sighed and leaned against her as they shambled the rest of the way to the city, grateful for her steady presence when so much of his life was still in upheaval.

* * *

Gurok's worry was only exacerbated when hours passed without any sign of the rogue. Just when he thought that he would need to set out and find Arastel himself- and when it seemed that Tablah was ready to kick him out for unnerving the customers with his anxious pacing- the elf staggered through the front doors, looking absolutely exhausted.

The orc schooled his expression, turning his relieved grin into a subdued but pleased smile. "I was wondering when you would show up," he greeted, pulling out a chair for the rogue.

Arastel just shook his head and waved the warrior away; he plopped down in the chair and propped his feet up on the table, groaning as he did so. His head tipped back and he let out a long, tired sigh.

"Need a drink?" Gurok ventured, taking in the rogue's mussed hair and dirt-flecked skin.

"Something large," the elf mumbled, raising his hands to show the general size of beverage he required, "and tall, and strong. Foamy. Strong. Did I say that already? _Strong_. Where's that troll?" he asked, lazily peering around the bar.

"He's grabbing us something. On me," the warrior added.

Arastel let his head loll to the side as he gave Gurok a grateful grin. "Thank you. I'll return the favor… sometime. I, er, misplaced my coinpurse today, I'm afraid," he said with an aggravated wince.

"Everything go alright today?" the orc asked tentatively.

The rogue waved off his question, sitting up properly in his chair as Tablah approached with two drinks in hand. "Oh, don't worry about me. I talk enough about myself anyway. Let's hear about you first," he said as he wriggled his fingers, anxious to get his hands on the beer.

"I got sixty-tree mugs at da momen'," Tablah said as he set two frothy cups down on their table. "If even _one_ be missin' when I count afta dis, I'mma skewer ya both," he said sternly to them, his gaze lingering on Arastel. He tapped his long tusk warningly and gave them both one last look before turning back to the bar.

"So, as I was saying- how was your day?" Arastel asked pleasantly as he eagerly leaned forward to lap at the foam atop his mug before it spilled over.

Gurok grunted and scratched at the table. "Uneventful."

"Really? Oh, what I would have given for such a nondescript day," the rogue groaned.

The orc smirked and leaned back in his seat. "Well, my day is out of the way, so why don't you tell me about yours?" he asked, giving the rogue the opportunity to talk about himself that he so obviously craved.

Arastel's face immediately lit up as he launched into a detailed retelling of his day from the moment that they went their separate ways.

Gurok actually heard approximately three-fourths of it, as the rogue periodically paused to drag his tongue around the rim of his beer and collect the foam still clinging there.

"Distracting," he mumbled as he stared a spot where, two seconds earlier, the elf's tongue had lingered.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Gurok said quickly. "Continue."

"Okay, so, I get done with everything in Ratchet, _finally_, and need to get a flight to the Crossroads. And you know, you can't say _anything_ anymore without someone getting miffed about it. That thin-skinned goblin gave me the _worst_ wyvern he had-"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing! A completely innocuous remark about his skin, which looked rather dry and flaky…"

"Arastel."

"It did, Gurok!" the elf cried. "And they make creams for that. I was _trying_ to be helpful, and what did it get me? An inbred wyvern that dropped me as we flew over the Barrens!"

"Dropped you!" the orc guffawed, earning him a withering glare from the rogue.

"Why, yes, Gurok, I _am_ fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Apologies. Are you alright?"

"No! It was right over one of those horrible brambles that the pig people live in," the elf complained, narrowing his eyes as the warrior stifled his laughter behind his hand. "I got caught on the thorns as I fell and it ripped off practically all of my clothes- ruined them completely. _Ruined_ them," he repeated, looking disgusted at the loss.

"Oh?" Gurok's laughter died down a bit as the story took a decidedly different turn. "Tore them off? Practically, uh, all of them, you say?"

"Yes, I was stuck in the middle of a Quilboar den, half-naked, clutching the letter that I was supposed to deliver to my bare chest-"

"Wait, you _did_ deliver it, right? This isn't just a story to explain to Betila why the letter didn't reach the client, is it?"

"Yes, Gurok, I did the job," the elf snorted. "Anyway, I hurry up and stealth out of there, and they're all squealing and grunting the whole time, and I was a mess, let me tell you. I stole one of their blankets so I'd have some cover when I passed the letter along and then I darted from shrubbery to shrubbery all the way back to Orgrimmar… it was slow going," he said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," the orc said with a wry half-smile. He was, but he also wasn't- he would have gladly taken up another week's worth of duties from Betila if he could have been in the Crossroads when a disheveled, half naked Arastel stumbled in from the wilds to hand off that letter. As it was, he'd have to make do with his imagination.

"Yes, you look very sorry," the elf noted with a cocked eyebrow.

"I like hearing that even you have flaws," the warrior said with a shrug.

Arastel rocked back in his seat as he laughed. "'Even me'? Gurok, ask any of the city guards in Silvermoon and they will certainly inform you of my many, many flaws," he said with a hint of exasperation. "What are you on about?"

Gurok shrugged again and took a lengthy drink.

"Well, I'd like to hear about some of _your_ flaws," the elf said as he propped his head up on his hand.

"Mine? Are they not obvious?"

Arastel groaned. "No, they're not. Point them out, would you? So far I've only seen that you are honorable enough to put yourself in danger as a guard and receive a pittance in return, kind and forgiving, calm and wise- where are the glaring lapses in quality of character?"

"I only began work as a guard because I thought it would be exciting to go to Outland but did not have the equipment or gold to operate as an adventurer," the orc said as he fiddled with a napkin. "Same with Tablah. I joined the Kor'kron because Warchief Thrall asked it of me- my mother was in one of the camps he freed," he explained with a small smile. "I would do anything he asked. As for the rest-"

"No, no, my dear Gurok," the elf said quickly. "I will not suffer your martyr-like denial of all your exceedingly good qualities."

The orc snorted. "And what of you? You deny the kindnesses you do just as much."

"And what would those be?"

"I recall you offering up five-hundred gold on my behalf-"

"To correct a mistake I had made. That doesn't count," he said with a shake of his head. "You, on the other hand… our very first encounter you had all the reason in the world to break my nose and drag me into a cell, but you didn't- for which I am thankful, I will add. You just talked to me," he added simply, staring down into the dark amber liquid in his mug.

Gurok shrugged. "You started doing all of the talking. I only replied."

The elf chuckled lowly.

"Why _did_ you speak to me?" the orc inquired suddenly, glancing up at the elf. "I've wondered… I mean, since that night, I've wondered about it."

"Well… you were alone. Sitting at that bar all by yourself." Arastel gave him a tight-lipped smile and began picking at the edge of the table. "I watched you for a long time, you know. I thought you might be drunk and easy to steal from… but I also worried that a guard friend of yours might walk in any second."

Gurok snorted lightly and nodded. "But no one ever did."

"No. An hour passed and no one even came close to sitting next to you," the rogue said thoughtfully, his brows knitted as though he found that hard to understand.

"So… what?" the warrior asked with a bland smile. "You see a lonely orc, try to pickpocket him, and then feel so bad that you linger just to talk?"

Arastel shrugged. "I was a little lonely, too, I suppose."

"Oh."

"You should… you should come over sometime," the elf said after a moment of silence. "I, ah, got hold of some nice pillows to sit on. And a plate. We could have dinner."

"Stolen dinner on a stolen plate while sitting on stolen pillows?" Gurok asked with a low laugh.

"I'll pay for the dinner," the elf said sheepishly.

"You don't have to pay for my food," the warrior said slowly. "I will-"

"No, Gurok," Arastel interrupted. "I… it's the least I can do for you getting me a mount," he said with a smile. "I'm grateful. You do a lot. For me. I need to repay you, lest you grow tired of this one-way street and take your leave of me."

"Abandon such concerns," the orc said quickly, peering over the rim of his mug at Arastel.

"You say that now," the elf smiled, "but give me a few years of leeching off of you and I suspect you will be singing a different tune," he said sweetly. "Please?"

Gurok sighed. "Not that word again."

"Please?" Arastel asked again, taking care to draw it out.

The orc head tipped back and groaned, fully aware that he was unable to deny a 'please' from the elf.

It seemed that the elf knew it, too.

* * *

Gurok crossed off the fifth address on his list and took a bite of his bread.

Or he tried to, at least. It was the cheapest thing that the baker had to offer- at least a week old, by the staleness of it. It took a bit of work with his tusks to break off an acceptable bite-sized chunk. More effort than the bread itself was worth, as far as he was concerned.

Peeved, he threw the last of the nigh inedible bread into the pond, thinking that a little water might at least loosen it up for the waterfowl.

It promptly sank.

With a sigh, he stood up and began to make his way to the sixth address on his list- a goblin contractor in search of hired muscle for reconstruction of the city.

Betila's assignments were only temporary, and once the week was out (or once he'd been forced into a life-threatening situation, whichever came first) the contract would be finished and he would be without any sort of work. Today she had no need of them, and Gurok, seeing his pantry growing sparse, decided to make the best of a day off and be productive.

"Lok'tar," he greeted as he darkened the doorway of the scruffy-bearded goblin. "I am here about this advertisement for work."

"You got professional experience in building and construction?"

"Not really, but-"

"Sorry, pal. Lots of people out here lookin' for work, and lots got the qualifications."

"I've practiced carpentry for many years, I helped maintain outposts on Draenor, and I'm strong," he insisted. "There is much to be rebuilt in Orgrimmar. Surely you have _some_ need of someone like me?"

"Look, I get ya, pal. I really do, but…" The goblin sighed and ran his hand down his face. "Tell ya what. Leave your name and address in the ledger over there," the goblin said quietly, glancing around the corner nervously. "I'll get back to you if anything opens up, okay? Don't count on it, though."

Gurok nodded in thanks. "I appreciate your consideration," he said as he forced a small smile and turned toward the cluttered desk.

Disappointment welled up within him at his utter lack of success. Worries over paying for food, wood, and oil resurfaced, as did concerns over having no savings to speak of. He hadn't anticipated this much difficulty in finding work, and he was becoming acutely aware of how precarious of a situation he was in. He prayed to the ancestors that no harm befell his home- he hadn't the means to repair it at the moment.

He finished scrawling his name and address, bowed, and left the little building. A glance up at the sun told him it was nearly time to get ready to visit Arastel anyway, so he tried to brush off the rejections of the day and put the unpleasant afternoon behind him.

Gurok was at a loss for what an invitation to dinner meant. He knew what it meant with other orcs, but with elves… was it different?

He brought a bottle of spirits that Tablah had recommended (and offered free of charge, the look in his eye suggesting that he knew what dire straits the orc was in financially) and a small jug of oil for cooking, a recent gift from a merchant he had been loyally buying from for years.

It was technically regifting, which he generally tried not to do, but Gurok wasn't in much of a position to be buying choice gifts for his host. He had stared wistfully at the leatherworking supplies stall for some twenty minutes, wishing that the merchant owed him a few favors.

The sun began to sink behind the mountains and the orc decided it was time to head inside. Four flights of narrow, uneven stairs and tight, winding hallways- the space, clearly meant for tiny goblins and perhaps lithe little elves, made him feel claustrophobic. He stayed hunched, ducked through every entry way, and turned sideways so that his broad shoulders did not catch on the walls.

It was a relief to reach the elf's room. It was tiny, but at least it wasn't _cramped_. He rapped against the door with his knuckles, the sound heavy and harsh.

It creaked open almost immediately. "Gurok!" Arastel greeted with a bright grin. "Come in, come in," he said, ushering the orc inside.

"I, uh, brought you these," the warrior said as he more or less shoved the two bottles into the elf's arms.

"Oh, very nice of you," the rogue mumbled softly as he examined the gifts. "You really didn't have to… We'll have to drink a bit of this tonight. And this," he said as he sniffed at the oil, "smells very good."

"Supposed to be something, uh, aromatic, I think," Gurok rumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away uncertainly. "Good for cooking."

Arastel gave him a half-smile and set the two bottles down on the floor, up against the wall and out of the way. "Give me a minute and I'll go check on the food," he said quickly, already halfway out the door.

Gurok nodded- mostly to himself, as the elf was probably halfway out the building by now. He stood awkwardly still for a few moments, unsure of where to sit.

Several large- if worn and in need of a good fluffing- pillows were scattered about the tiny room, all in beautiful shades of red. There was still no table. However, it seemed that a stretch of floor had been set aside for dining, with two cups and a pitcher of water set out and the area lit by six stout candles and decorated with dry flower petals.

_That's… elfy. _More elflike than what it had looked like when he last visited, certainly.

Gurok hesitantly settled himself down onto the largest pillow, hoping that he wouldn't flatten it. It took a moment to find a comfortable way to fold his large legs, but once he did, he found the setup very relaxing. The dried flowers definitely helped conceal some of the wretched scent of the goblin slums, and the cushion of the pillow made a world of difference from the hard, uneven floor.

Arastel was still busy with the food. Gurok was still alone. In the elf's room. With all of his things. Unobserved.

The warrior sighed and tried distracting himself by examining the dripping candles and the tarnished metal pitcher, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable.

It was too tempting. He shouldn't have, and he knew it; how furious he would be if anyone ever rifled through _his_ things like this. But he was like a thirsty kodo brought to water, and his desperate curiosity wasn't going to let this moment slip by.

Thick green fingers carefully picked through a nearby stack of clothing, not knowing what he hoped to find. There were several light silk shirts, various collections of worn leather clothing (clearly intended for daily wear rather than combat), a dozen pairs of socks and underwear (Gurok's cheeks grew hot as he thumbed through them), and one large, oiled cloak for rain and snow; then he found exactly what he hadn't even realized he had been looking for.

It was a glove, buried within the folds of the cloak. Made of the same dark leather as the rest of the rogue's armor, with the same distinct and pleasant scent of Arastel; it also boasted soft fur lining and large, clumsily sewn fingers. In fact, it appeared the glove was made for someone with two thumbs.

A bit more searching and he found the glove's mate- an unsightly thing, clearly created for a person with a pincer for a hand. Two thumbs on the right hand, and a pincer on the left. He surveyed the pair of gloves for a few moments, smiling.

"So, you have found my latest attempts." A sharp peal of laughter filled the room as Gurok jolted, startled by the sudden return of the rogue.

"I- I- I- s-sorry," he stammered, hurriedly stuffing the gloves back underneath the pile of clothing.

"It's fine," Arastel said easily. He kicked the door shut and crossed the tiny room in three steps, a clay pot dangling in each hand. "That's actually an _improvement_ on what my gloves used to look like, if you can believe it."

"I like them." Gurok swallowed thickly, his gaze falling back to the candles on the floor.

Dimly glowing green eyes considered him for a few lengthy moments. "I figured you must like tangia," the elf said as he set the two clay vessels down on the floor and then took a seat on the pillow opposite of Gurok.

The warrior grunted and nodded. It was the meal of orcish bachelors everywhere, after all. "How long has it been cooking?" he asked lightly, hoping to turn the conversation far, far away from his snooping through the elf's possessions.

"All day," Arastel drawled, a smile tugging at his lips. "Down in the embers where they heat the building's water. Not that you'd ever know that there's hot water in this place," he grumbled. "This one is pork, and the other is beef. There are potatoes, onions, tomatoes, lemon and oil for flavor, lots of spices," he said proudly.

Gurok took a whiff of the slow-roasted meat and vegetables as the seals on the tangia were broken. "You've taken well to orcish cooking, from the smell of it."

"Thank you," the rogue said with a light blush. "Whenever orcs actually _cook_ their meat, they do it quite well, you know," he said with a teasing grin. "I like the style of it. And I like the spices around here. They're a lot more… bold. I guess it has to do with the heat in Durotar? It seems to concentrate all of the flavor into one tough, stringy little plant."

The orc grinned around his tusks and nodded. "Sounds about right."

"Oh! Speaking of spices," he said as he spooned the contents from each of the jars onto a large, dented platter, "the beef one should be _hot_. I don't know how much you like spicy food-"

"I enjoy it," Gurok said eagerly. He bowed gratefully as the rogue passed him a second cup- a small one, sized just right for liquor- and the bottle of spirits that he'd brought. He'd have to thank Tablah for it again later.

"Then we'll both be sweating this out together," the elf murmured as he scooped a long, twisted pepper from one of the pots. "I asked for the hottest ones that he had."

The warrior finished pouring the spirits for himself and Arastel, then nodded in thanks as a knife was passed to him. "You don't eat with forks like the other elves?"

Arastel shrugged. "When in Orgrimmar, you know," he said as he skewered a piece of meat on the tip of his knife. "Also, I lost my own silverware a long time ago. Never got around to replacing it. Using a knife is easier anyway. But I make sure to keep my cooking knives and my _work_ knives separate," he added quickly. "Don't worry."

"I wasn't," the orc said around a mouthful of tender beef and potatoes. It was good. And that worried him a little. He had hoped to one day impress Arastel with his skill with food preparation, but now… well, it was good that he had carpentry as a backup.

The rogue fanned himself after his third bite. "That orc wasn't exaggerating when he said I'd feel the heat," he said, half laughing and half panting.

"My mother always cooked like this," Gurok said softly, piercing a few more chunks of meat and onion on his knife. "She said that the heat helps keep your head clear."

"Sounds familiar to me," Arastel said as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief, giving the orc a wry smile from behind the piece of cloth. "When I was younger, an apothecary in Silvermoon started selling genuine Kalimdor peppers as a home-cure for colds and the like," he said with a shake of his head. "And my mother- my poor mother, she would believe _anything_ if a man in fancy robes said it- bought out the whole stock. I was always sickly back then. She would chop them up and put them in all of my food. Porridge, soup, tea, everything."

"Tea?" The orc found a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes," he chortled, pausing to throw back what might have been his third measure of spirits. "My mouth was on fire for the first three days. I couldn't sit still. I couldn't sleep. But, you know… I _did_ stop catching as many illnesses after that."

"Mothers know best." Gurok grinned as he popped a particularly large chunk of meat into his mouth.

"They do," Arastel agreed as he took a long sip on his water, peering amusedly at the orc over the rim of his glass.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, focused on the food laid out before them.

Gurok was grateful for the bounty, given the light meals he had been having as of late. He wasn't sure whether Arastel had held to his word of paying for the food rather than stealing it, but with each bite he found himself caring less and less.

"What kind of peppers did you get?" Gurok asked after a few minutes of quiet chewing. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his face and neck felt tingly from the heat, and his tongue was starting to protest any thought of continuing to eat. He poured himself another measure of liquor, thinking that it might at least numb some of the sensation.

"Hot ones!" the elf cried, laughing as he reached for the pitcher to refill his glass. "I don't even know, but they looked _brutal_. They reminded me a little of the peppers used to make irritants and burning gases. So I bought them. Because… I don't know." He buried his face in his hands and shook with silent laughter. "I'm terrible."

"You're not terrible. You're- you're- Ancestors," he breathed, reaching for his glass again, "those are hot." The warrior laughed and wiped his face, hoping that the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes would be mistaken for sweat. "You," he panted, "are not what I expected."

"How so?"

Gurok's breath caught in his chest, and for a moment his burning mouth was forgotten. Arastel was staring at him- _really_ staring. It was the same fixed look that the very aged shaman sometimes gave people, like they were seeing something inside of them.

And his eyes were playful, and his expression friendly, sort of amused, like it almost always was, but…

But there was something underneath it.

"You like…" He hesitated at the thought of adding 'me', because that was presumptuous.

The elf licked his lips, which were now as red as his cheeks and ears were, though Gurok couldn't tell if it was from the heat, the alcohol, or the turn of the conversation.

"You like… us," he said weakly, raising his arms to gesture around him. "Orgrimmar. Our food. Our mounts. Our… people."

"Yes, I- I like you," Arastel said with a slow, tipsy nod. "Orgrimmar. You." He paused to gather up his sweat-slicked hair and pile it up on top of his head, letting the back of his neck cool. "You're not what I expected, either."

"No?"

"No."

He stared at Arastel. _Really_ stared. Not just at his freckles or the faint, faint lines of old scars, or the creases around his eyes and the way his long ears bobbed with every movement. Beyond his leather and flushed golden skin, the way he smelled, and how silky his hair looked even now, all damp with sweat and flecked with dark ash from the boiler room.

He tried to see around that. Tried to see the pale, sickly young elf he must have been, the one that grew to leave his home and end up here of all places, to make his home in a harsh land and _like_ it. The one that was friendly but had no friends, other than a lonely orc that he'd tried to pickpocket. The one who smiled and laughed more in a day than Gurok did in a week; who lived in a slum and ate like an orc but had more beauty products than most of the Horde's females saw in a lifetime; who never talked about the scars crisscrossing his throat or how he came to be here but _did_ mention his mother, who fed him peppers to keep him from getting sick.

"I wanted a shop," Arastel murmured, the soft sound drawing Gurok back from his thoughts. "I never belonged in Silvermoon. And I didn't belong anywhere while I was an adventurer. I felt like I _could_ belong here," he said with a fleeting smile. "I just needed… something to anchor me. So that I'd have a connection here. Something to make me stay. It was going to be my shop. At Betila's… I decided I'd rather it be you."

Gurok swallowed thickly. In the back of his mind, he found himself sincerely hoping that this was real. Real, and not a wishful hallucination brought on by the too-hot peppers of some cruel farmer.

"I… you seem hung up on that five-hundred gold," the rogue continued slowly, bringing his gaze up to meet the orc's. He smiled crookedly. "I couldn't be happier about it, though. I'd have given anything to make things right by you, to make you see that I meant what I said. Five-hundred was a _bargain_. And- and I'm glad you came tonight."

"I am, too."

* * *

After a slow, groan-filled stumble home, Gurok had fallen onto his bed and stared blearily up at the ceiling as he pondered what the next day would hold.

A hangover, certainly, which would make his next assignment from Betila that much more excruciating. However, his main concern lay with Arastel. Were things different between them now? He squirmed at the thought, uncertain whether the wriggling feeling was from excitement or dismay.

He was no stranger to relationships, but Arastel was unlike anyone he had ever been with before.

Not like Aeka, the female chosen for him by the self-appointed matchmaker of his childhood neighborhood. Though she had been an impressive specimen of orcish femininity (she was the finest archer in their cohort, could take a punch without flinching, and could butcher a whole hog in two minutes flat), and though Gurok would never have denied that she was striking, or that she was a fine fighter, he had never been able to really get along with her.

Arastel was nothing like Ortok, either. Ortok had been slender for an orc, smaller than anyone else in the cohort. He could only wield light axes and daggers, as anything heavier taxed him terribly, and he had often required Gurok's assistance to finish training assignments. His weakness had earned him scorn, but never from Gurok. It was with Ortok that he had progressed beyond the rough-and-tumble crushes and innocent kisses of childhood, and though he still couldn't call what they'd had love- or attachment, or even affection- he couldn't forget the hurt his young heart had felt when Ortok left.

He had still been sullen when he left for Mulgore and the Barrens, and though he had initially resolved to remain unattached and hard-hearted, Dala had somehow managed to slip past his defenses. Gurok felt that he saw shades of what had endeared the tauren to him within Arastel, but even so… dealing with the rogue did not come as easily. There was much about him that the orc did not know, unlike Dala, who had been open and forthright from the moment they had met.

It all made for a very confounding experience. It felt like being in dangerous new territory with outdated maps, and Gurok felt quite lost.

Yet… there was an appeal that he could not deny in it all. His gut twisted and tightened at the thought of the elf, and through it all Gurok had faith that _somehow_ it would all work itself out. Things had, surprisingly, gone fairly smoothly so far; perhaps he worried needlessly.

Arastel was fond of him. Fond enough to aid him, fond enough to linger now as a friend. That was enough of an anchor for the orc at the moment. He needed something to cling to as he navigated their strange, growing relationship, and that would do- even if questions over the implications of all that was said over the late dinner still plagued him in the quiet hours before dawn.

Fortunately, their conversation the next evening left little room for any mention of 'about last night' or 'let's talk about our feelings'.

"Are you okay?" The elf's gaze roved over him, clearly concerned.

"I'm fine," the orc murmured as he continued to apply pressure to his arm. He _wasn't_ fine, actually, but not because of the mangling of his arm. It was because the one person that he least wanted to see him in a state of pathetic weakness was _here_, seeing him lying on the ground in a state of pathetic weakness.

"I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole, but I'm fine," Gurok continued in a low rumble, just loud enough to be audible over the low hum of the nearby portals. "Where's a shaman when you need one?"

That earned him a quiet laugh from the elf, and the warrior's heart fluttered. He hoped he could play the whole situation off as a joke and walk away with at least _some_ dignity in the rogue's eyes.

"In my experience, they're always on the sidelines, screaming and begging as they try to get their summoned fire elemental to at least _look_ at the foe," he said with a chortle, which was an odd sound to hear coming from a rogue that looked like the spirit of death made corporeal.

Arastel was a frightening sight. He wore a dark hood that cast the upper half of his face in shadow, a leather mask tooled with swirled designs that suggested a maw full of fangs, and studded leather armor from head-to-toe. A pair of wickedly curved daggers were strapped to his back, in addition to a compact bow and a small quiver; it seemed a dozen more knives and throwing weapons were fastened to his limbs with leather straps, and a veritable cornucopia of poisons and acids were tied to the belt coiled around his waist.

Gurok had actually been a little startled to see him at first. He was used to a much more lightly equipped Arastel- soft fabrics mixed with leather accents, a few go-to weapons, his hair and face uncovered. Now he was a vision of shadowy death, his glowing green eyes made ominous by all of the dark clothing and weaponry.

"Wolf bite?" the rogue guessed as he crouched and peeked under the blood-soaked cloth to see the punctures in Gurok's forearm.

The orc nodded and continued to dab at it. His first actual mission for Betila had impressed upon him just how out of touch he was with the adventuring experience. It was _not_ like being a guard. Not that he wasn't strong enough for it- he just didn't know what to expect. He was used to confronting dangerous foes, but of the criminal variety; blood-thirsty, rabid wolves weren't a common occurrence in Orgrimmar, and he didn't have backup out here in the wilds, either.

He swore as more blood seeped through the cotton pad. It seemed like it would never stop welling up.

Arastel frowned and rocked back on his heels. "That looks… bad."

"It could be worse," he said immediately. Years of honing quick reflexes by nabbing pickpockets had allowed him to hack off the head of the one lunging for his groin with lightning speed, and for that, Gurok was deeply appreciative.

"I suppose." Arastel's brow furrowed. "Where did she have you go?"

"Twilight Highlands."

"Ah. I've got to go to Uldum," the rogue said with a groan. "Perhaps I'll see you after? I doubt I'll be back before midnight, though," he complained as he took another peek at the crumpled instructions he had been given.

"Maybe. At Tablah's?" He examined the torn flesh of his arm again, scowling as more blood began to rise from the punctures.

"Certainly. We can check out that arm there," the elf said with a concerned pat on the orc's shoulder. "I'd hate to see it get infected," the elf continued, smiling slyly at the way Gurok stiffened at his touch.

"I plan on seeing a healer about it when I get back. And before you go, I was-" the orc began before suddenly stopping himself. "Nevermind."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's not important right now."

"Gurok-"

"I'm holding you up."

The elf frowned at him- and Gurok was somewhat proud that he could tell even with half of the rogue's face veiled. It was all in his eyes, the small lines around them crinkled in displeasure and his golden eyebrows drawn together. "Just take it easy," Arastel said with one last glance at the orc's arm. "Please?"

The warrior chuckled lowly and nodded. "Seems that taking it easy is all I'm good for anymore."

A soft whap against his head made him snort. "And just for that comment," the elf hissed as he bent over to put his face level with the orc's, "the first round tonight is on me," he finished lightly.

"Ara-"

"Stop being so self-deprecating, too," he chided as he gathered up all of his things. "Everyone knows that attitude only works with blood elves and Forsaken. No one wants a depressed, down-on-himself orc," he called over his shoulder as he sauntered away toward the portal to Uldum.

* * *

The great horn used to mark the hours had bellowed thrice before he had begun trudging away from Tablah's. The troll had offered to let him sleep on the reed mat rolled up behind the counter, but the lure of a real bed called him home.

He made a silent prayer to the Ancestors that the rogue was safe and well, and that his assignment was going smoothly. On another day, Gurok might have stayed up all night waiting just to make certain that Arastel came home in one piece, but he was still exhausted from his own work and his arm was aching terribly. The healer he had visited- a beleaguered looking goblin priest- had hurried through the motions of mending his lacerated arm, and though the skin was healed (if still a little raw), pain still seemed to emanate from the bone within. He was doubtful that the healer had truly gotten to the root of the injury, but being seeing the throngs of other wounded adventurers in line behind him, he had paid without making a ruckus.

Now he was beginning to question the wisdom in that.

He almost sighed in relief when he reached his door. He went to turn his key but found the lock had already been undone. Worry surged through him, and he barged through the door hoping to catch the thief in the act.

Arastel turned and grinned at him, raising his hands up in a gesture of surrender. His hood and mask had been pulled down, but the rest of his intimidating armor was still in place. "I was just waiting to make sure you made it home, I promise," he said softly. "Sorry if I alarmed you, it won't happen again."

Gurok felt the built up fury and apprehension drain right out of him. He shut the door and locked it with a click. "No, I feared it was someone else," the orc said quickly. "I am glad to see you," he added awkwardly.

"I only just got back," the elf explained, picking something up off of the table and turning it over in his hands. "I thought for certain you would have been home an hour ago," he said with a raise of his eyebrows. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright before I went home. I was going to go check Tablah's after this, but I kept thinking that you'd turn up here as soon as I left. So I waited for a bit."

The warrior nodded tiredly. "I appreciate your stopping by. All went well in Uldum, I take it?"

"Yes, swimmingly," the rogue said with a faint smile.

"What have you got there?" Gurok asked, pointing at the object that the elf kept spinning in his hands.

"Oh! Right, this," Arastel said with a short laugh. "Well, I found it out in the dunes… I don't know if you've ever been, but there's stuff like this lying all over the place in Uldum. It wouldn't be worth much, maybe twenty-five gold, but I thought you might like it. It's not a wolf or anything, but… maybe you'd appreciate the craft, I thought," he said with a shrug, offering the statue to the orc for appraisal.

The warrior took the bronze figure carefully. It was still warm from Arastel's touch- the crouched, dog-like figure peered up at him, dull yellow gems for eyes. It was old and worn from time and sand, but it still possessed a beauty and sense of importance.

"I… thank you," the orc murmured, unable to prevent a smile from crossing his lips. "Are you certain you do not wish to keep it?"

"Me? No, no. I have no use for it," he said with a wave. "I just hoped you'd like it, that's all."

"I do," Gurok grinned. "Thank you."

"Alright, alright," the elf smiled, rocking back on his heels. "So you got your arm put right?" he asked, peering at the tight, shiny, recently healed flesh.

"Yes, for the most part," the orc sighed, glancing down at his aching limb.

Arastel frowned and took a step closer. "I'm no healer, obviously, but I picked up some skills in first aid a long time ago," he said as he let his hands hover by the orc's arm. He glanced up at him for permission before carefully running his fingers over the mended flesh. "I can try fixing up something it's still bothering you," he muttered when he found a particularly sensitive spot on the warrior's forearm.

Gurok nodded weakly. At the present moment, with Arastel caressing his arm like this, the dull ache in his arm was of little concern. "If it would not trouble you…"

"It absolutely wouldn't," the rogue assured him as he jotted something down on a piece of paper on Gurok's desk. "Believe me, I've dealt with enough cut-rate healers over the years that I know this sort of thing," he said with a peeved shake of his head. "Sometimes you just can't rely on magic, you know? Have to do it yourself."

The warrior nodded in agreement. "Is there anything that I should buy?" he asked hesitantly. He had barely been able to afford the goblin's half-assed healing; how he would pay for the herbs and poultices required for Arastel's treatment, he was not sure.

"No, nothing," the elf said at once, tearing off a portion of the paper and tucking it away in his vest. He flashed the orc a smile and pulled up his hood, preparing to leave.

"Arastel. I would not ask you to purchase such things on my behalf," Gurok sighed, stepping in the elf's way as he tried to leave.

"Exactly. Which is why I'm not letting you ask me," he said brightly. "I'm doing this of my own accord. Besides, you would have no idea about which plants to select or who to buy from to get a good deal. It's just easier if I do it."

"I'll reimburse you for it-"

"No, my friend," the rogue said sharply, pressing his hands against the warrior's broad chest and forcing him to take a step back. "Consider this my way of paying you back. Light knows I owe you many favors. Now, will you allow me to leave?" he asked pleasantly.

Gurok hemmed and hawed, shuffling as he tried to decide whether or not now was a good time to bring this up. "I was, uh, hoping to broach this subject with you before you scampered off earlier," the orc said hesitantly.

"Yes?" The rogue looked a bit dubious but waited patiently nonetheless.

"I noticed that your living conditions were not ideal," the orc began hesitantly, wanting to express his concern for the goblin slum home without offending the elf.

"Oh, it's ideal- if you enjoy being woken at three in the morning by chunks of plaster raining down from the ceiling as the room two doors down 'mysteriously' blows up," Arastel said with an easy smile.

"Yes, well," the orc said awkwardly. He rubbed at the back of his thick neck nervously, afraid he might startle off the elf. "With my, er, change of career, I have had to cut back for a while as I look for new work. My house is paid for, but food costs just keep rising, as does the cost of wood… you know that."

"It's criminal," the rogue agreed. "And I _do_ know criminal," he added with a mischievous smirk.

The orc grunted in agreement. Times were hard, and he knew that even with his unscrupulous sources of income, the elf had to be feeling the pressure as well. "I think it would be prudent to… pool our resources."

"Pool our… resources?" Arastel asked uncertainly.

"It was only a proposal and I understand if you are not interested," the warrior said quickly. "You have seen my home," he said, gesturing to the space around them. "It's small and offers only basic comforts. I know that I am offering nothing grand, I just thought… maybe." He shrugged and clenched his jaw tight, his lips curling down around his tusks in a subtle frown.

"I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," the elf said apologetically. "I wasn't entirely sure what you were getting at, and the last thing I would want to do is impose on you any further than I already have," he explained, his cheeks tinged just the faintest with red.

"You would not be imposing," Gurok assured him. "You would be helping. I would only ask that you purchase food. It should cost less than paying rent for your own place would. And it would be a bit more pleasant, location-wise."

"Yes, it would be," Arastel agreed, grinning broadly. "I think I would rather like that. I am sometimes required to keep late hours, though. And my leatherworking is going to make the entire place smell. Full disclosure."

"Smell? Like how your leather always smells?" _Layers of spice and smoke and heady oil? _was what he thought to add.

"I'm afraid so." He looked genuinely concerned that that would bother the orc.

Gurok leaned in. Not close enough to bother the elf, he hoped, but enough that he could count the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of Arastel's nose. "I think I would rather like that."

* * *

Thank you to the people reading! (Still not 100% sure whether the Dranosh'ar Blockade is the front gate or the area just outside of it? And tangia's something bachelors in Morocco cook, I guess, and it made me think of something they might make in Orgrimmar. idfk where I'm getting things from anymore.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all of the reviews so far!**

* * *

Arastel had taken over.

And Gurok _liked_ it. For the most part, at least.

He couldn't walk two steps in the living room without kicking aside scraps of leather or half-finished boots, the sink was filled with linens that were being dyed, and dirty plates covered every available surface. His tin of bloodthistle helped disguise the odor of the trashpile before it got taken out, and his notes and sketches littered the room and provided ample reading material for the orc.

The elf wasn't here at the moment; true to his word, he spent most nights out ransacking the city and countryside and a better part of the day honing his craft.

He would arrive like a whirlwind, a flurry of action and eating and raucous storytelling. And when he was present, the house seemed alive in a way that it had never been, with tea on the small stove and pots of stew boiling and even the faint sounds of singing as Arastel began to set up his leatherworking tools up on the roof.

It was almost like living in an entirely new home- albeit one with all the same cracks and sagging walls and creaky support beams.

"Gurok!" the rogue said cheerily as he slipped in through the window.

"Arastel," the orc greeted with mild surprise. He took a slow sip of his coffee as he wondered if he was growing used to the elf's scent. He was even harder to notice now. "I didn't realize you were here."

"Oh, yes. Just up on the roof," he said as he wiped his hands on his breeches. "I've got set it up so I can tan up there now. The leather, not me. Well, I get a bit of sun, too, but that's just a pleasant side effect."

"Just keep a watch out for the places with the big cracks. I know you're light on your feet and all, but… still."

"Oh, oh. Of course," the elf mumbled, but he was already distracted as he rummaged through a crate of odds and ends.

Gurok sincerely doubted he had truly heard a word. "Uh, Arastel," he tested, clearing his throat quietly.

"Yes?" He was focused on comparing two lengths of twine, but tilted his head and cocked an ear to let the orc know that he was listening.

"I was hoping to ask you for a favor," the warrior mumbled, staring down into his cup. "All these errands and tromps through the wilderness have been murder on my clothes. My pants in particular. I only had a couple of pairs to begin with, and now they're… on their last legs," he said with a brief smile.

"I'd absolutely love to make you some," the elf said at once, straightening up and giving him a once-over. "I'd say I have enough leather for three pairs. Maybe four," he muttered, already stalking toward the orc.

Gurok was taken off guard by the intensity in the rogue's eyes, and even more so by his straightforward manner. Within seconds, Arastel's hands were at his waist, his thumbs hooked in the band as he felt the worn material.

"I'll, uh, ask an auctioneer about some leather," he said with an audible swallow. "I-I don't want to use up all of your-"

"Nonsense," the elf said with a snort. He continued to unabashedly tug and prod at Gurok's clothing, either oblivious of or unconcerned with how it flustered the large orc. "At auction house prices? The goblins would bleed you dry. I have plenty on hand and I can always get more." He smiled and glanced up. "You can always pay me back by coming on a hunting trip with me when I restock."

"If you'd like," the warrior said with a weak nod. It was difficult to look the elf in the eye with one of his hands practically down his pants.

"I would! It would be fun. Always better to have company when I'm mass slaughtering giant spiders," the rogue said with a shrug. "If nothing else you can stand there and look intimidating to keep the Alliance off of my back. Oh, wear your Kor'kron outfit- do you still have that? _That_ would give us a wide berth."

"I still have some of my older pieces," the warrior said with a slow smile.

"You could look quite terrifying, then," the rogue said with a smile. "Especially with what you have going on here," he added, gesturing to his chin.

"Is my beard intimidating?" Gurok felt over the thick, sleek hair that now hung just below his jaw. He swept a hand across the top of his head and realized that a fair bit of hair had come in up there as well; he hadn't been keeping up with his habit of shaving since his departure from the Kor'kron.

"You look like you just shambled in from a life in the forest, raised by wolves," the elf murmured as he took the warrior's waist measurements.

"That doesn't sound so bad," the orc said with a shrug.

Arastel gave him a pained look.

"What? Wolves raise their young well," Gurok said defensively, a soft frown on his lips as the elf ducked and darted around his thighs with measuring tape.

"Orcs," the elf sighed as he jotted down numbers onto a spare piece of parchment. "I can pick up a few things I'll need from the bank on the way back. Does that sound alright?"

"On the way back from where?" the warrior asked as he moved toward the kettle and the tins that held their tea leaves and coffee beans.

Arastel huffed and gave the orc an impatient sigh. "My _riding_ lessons? The day I've been dreading for almost a week now?" he reminded him.

Gurok's mouth formed a silent 'oh'. He stirred a measure of thick honey into his brew and took a long sip, watching a pouting Arastel expectantly.

"Gurok." The elf cleared his throat. "Gurok," he said much more sweetly, "won't you come with me? Just as… moral support. And maybe to punch anyone that laughs at me?"

"I… I would," the warrior said hesitantly. "But Betila has me running errands for her all across Orgrimmar today…" Silently, he acknowledged that he was worried that if he were to observe Arastel's attempts at riding, _he_ would be the one laughing at the poor rogue.

"Please, Gurok? I can't show my face there alone," Arastel said with a grimace. "It's already so embarrassing… please?" he ventured, biting his lip.

The orc tipped his head back and groaned, and the elf knew well enough that that meant 'yes'.

* * *

"Look at them, Gurok," Arastel whispered, wonder and horror and secondhand embarrassment all drawn across his face. "They remind me of the time the neighborhood cat found a puddle of some Suntouched Special Reserve someone had spilled," he added with a sympathetic wince. "Poor thing stumbled around for hours."

The warrior was forced to shrug in agreement with that general impression.

The young adventurers milled about the kennel area in varied states of confusion. All were garbed in a mishmash of hand-me-downs and cast offs from whoever they had happened to run errands for; many were shoeless, for reasons Gurok did not quite understand, and few seemed to have any understanding of what weapons they should have been using.

"Who loosed them upon the world in this state?" he questioned in a near inaudible whisper. It was barbaric, letting such ill-equipped and untrained people set out into danger.

"Oh, watch out, that hunter looks like he just found his bow," Arastel warned, tugging the orc along with him as he sought cover.

"The good news is," Gurok began as they crouched behind a bale of hay, "you're certain to be at the top of your class."

The elf rolled his eyes in the most pained manner that he could manage. "Gurok," he said after a long moment's consideration. "You don't think…"

"We were that bad?" the orc finished for him, chancing a glance over the hay bale. One of the fledgling adventurers, a warrior with muttonchops so furry that they _had_ to be crafted from a worg's pelt, kept hopping and spinning in circles, his wool robes flying up and out as he did. Gurok's eyes narrowed when he saw a healer's staff strapped to the young warrior's back. "Ancestors, I don't think so."

"Right? Right?" the rogue whispered conspiratorially. "Things were not like this before. No. I don't know about you, but it took actual skill to be a rogue when I went through my training," he said with a particularly pained sigh at the orc rogue that apparently thought he was stealthed and had begun picking his nose. "Light, I hope I do better than the rest of that lot. I'll never overcome the shame if I don't."

Gurok stifled a chortle. "You'll do fine," he assured the rogue; and, in one brief moment of daring, he reached over to give him a pat on the shoulder. A friendly gesture, he told himself. That was all.

The elf glanced pointedly at the green hand resting briefly on his pauldron. "Gurok. Did you just touch me? Willingly? You're not being mind controlled by that horribly confused tauren over there, are you?"

"I- of course. Unless- I didn't mean to offend," the orc said quickly, withdrawing his hand as if he'd been burned.

"No, no," Arastel said quickly, shuffling forward until he was inches from the orc. "I just meant- it seems like you try to avoid contact. Like it bothers you. I certainly didn't mean to deter you. I like being touched," he said simply. "You can do it more, if you want," he added with a matter-of-fact shrug.

"Oh. Alright," the orc said uncomfortably. Arastel continued to sit there, looking at him expectantly. He extended his hand once more and gave the rogue another pat on his shoulder. "Ancestors watch you," he said lamely.

The elf smiled silently and rose to face the challenge of the morning- riding lessons.

Gurok stood just beyond the fence, willing himself to be a supportive friend and _not_ laugh at any and all misfortunes that befell the rogue. He did, however, allow himself to chuckle, snort, and guffaw at the so-called adventurers that preceded Arastel; several were obviously experienced riders, but the rest were sorely trying the patience of both their trainer and their mounts.

After the mutton-chopped warrior was bucked from his wolf for the third time, the trainer called Arastel forth and asked him to mount the large, dark brown beast.

Gurok's jaw clenched as he watched Arastel struggle to clamber up the big wolf's side, willing the small rogue to make it. He heard sniggering to his left and spied the dimwitted rogue and warrior muttering and gesturing at the elf; before he could storm over and give them both the boxing he felt they deserved, a sudden cry caught his attention.

Arastel had managed to swing up onto the mount as was smiling ecstatically, although he was now stuck perched atop it.

"Oh. Well, he's rather wide, isn't he?" the elf said with a wince as he attempted to straddle the massive wolf. "It's like trying to sit on a barrel," he muttered, feebly trying to bend his legs enough to reach the stirrups, which dangled hopelessly about a foot bellow his toes. "My wolf will be smaller than this."

Gurok caught his eye and nodded, earning him a grateful smile from the rogue.

"This one is for a proper orc," Gurok heard him say to the trainer. "Mine is a runt, more… elf-sized."

"Try and guide him through the course anyway," the trainer said, her stern voice taking on the barest edge of friendliness.

Arastel bit his lip and nodded weakly as he took tighter hold of the reins.

When it was obvious that he lacked the lower body strength to direct the wolf with his legs, the elf instead took to nudging his mount's shoulders in conjunction with the reins.

It was slow-going, compared to what a seasoned rider could do… but Gurok was proud to see small, inexperienced Arastel manage to command the large wolf- there were orcs that could not even convince the great, intelligent creatures to bow to their will, and here was an elf with half their strength competently guiding it through the course.

The trainer periodically barked out commands, offering better techniques on how to sit, to hold the reins, to move as the wolf changed speeds. After perhaps another hour of practice, she gave a decisive nod and called the elf back over toward her. With a pat on the rogue's shoulder, she announced her confidence in his skills and gestured for him to follow her back to the stables for a few last bits of advice.

Gurok headed in the same direction, smiling when he reached the shade of the kennel. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and neck as best he could before approaching the two of them.

"-but half a deer every two days should be enough for the first year or so," the female orc was saying as she handed a few pieces of tack to the elf. "And I see that you are friends with someone that can help teach you," she said as she spied Gurok approaching.

The warrior nodded, as did Arastel.

"Yes, he's been terribly helpful. As have you. Thank you," he said with a low bow. "I, erm, wish you luck with the rest of them out there."

The trainer let her eyes flutter shut as she sighed. "That batch is actually better than normal. Farewell," she said with a nod.

Gurok's mouth split into a grin as soon as they were alone. "You did wonderfully."

The elf playfully hit him in the shoulder. "No, it was awful, but I was _less_ awful than everyone else at least."

"Nonsense," the orc said at once. "You showed resolve and adaptability. You should be proud. _I_ am," he said with a warm grin. "I believe this calls for a celebration."

"Don't you have a bunch of errands to be running for Betila?" the rogue asked with a raised brow.

Gurok ducked his head and fiddled with one of his bracers, looking abashed. "It's… really just one or two. My apologies."

"It's fine, Gurok. I understand. And I appreciate it- both your not wanting to witness my embarrassment _and_ your coming along anyway."

"It is nothing," he insisted. "Now, in honor of your fine riding, I think-"

"Well, well, if it isn't Arastel Sunsworn," a snide voice said from behind them, interrupting the orc. "One would think that someone so used to spreading his legs would have had an easier time of trying to straddle that mount."

Gurok drew himself up as he turned around, insulted on the elf's behalf. He was no stranger to dealing with the sin'dorei- it was often enough glare or to spit in their general direction and watch them scurry away. The blood elves always seemed to tip-toe through the city, as if wary of coming into contact with the dust or dirt or any of its citizens.

"Hello, Valsann," Arastel said with a tight smile, putting a hand on the warrior's shoulder to calm him. "As loud as ever, are you?" he said through gritted teeth, casting his gaze around them apprehensively.

"I see you're still drawn to unsavory company," Valsann said sourly as he eyed the large orc.

Gurok's lips curled at the scrutiny, baring his teeth and tusks at the priest. A light squeeze from the rogue temporarily tore his thoughts away from grabbing the condescending elf by the hair and swinging him into the nearby pond.

"Charming Orgrimmar, as usual," the elf sighed. "Although I suppose I should just be grateful he didn't slobber on my robes."

"State your business quickly, elf," Gurok said harshly. He stepped forward protectively as he added, "Harass him any further and soiled robes will be the last of your worries."

"Harass? Oh, no, I'm only here to _help_ him. Arastel and I go way back, you see. I knew him before he got chased out of Silvermoon," Valsann said with a haughty laugh. He gave the orc a conspiratorial look. "I could… tell you about that, if you like. I'm certain that Arastel hasn't said a _word_ about what happened there. Not that I can blame him-"

"Val," the rogue interrupted, his normally bright eyes now narrowed dangerously.

Gurok frowned as Arastel hissed something in Thalassian. The flowing words meant little to him- the elves' tongue sounded like a stream of soft, elegant sounds, the syllables all running together into a musical sort of chatter- but the _tone_ said it all. Even though the rogue was smiling, there was an edge to his words that might as well have been a blade against the priest's throat.

Valsann frowned and gave them both a curt nod. "Very well. Continue to keep your secrets from your… _friend_, here," the priest said with a nonchalant shrug. "I care not. It's _his_ business entirely if he wishes to consort with murderers, liars and whores. Or, a murderous, lying whore. He really gets the whole package with you, doesn't he?"

"Valsann, are you going to tell me why you're bothering me? Or should I be left to conclude that my cousin has grown bored of your… _skills_ and is no longer fueling your addiction? Is this your thistle-addled way of asking me for a fix?" he asked with false concern.

The scandalized look on the priest's face was, in Gurok's mind, _almost_ as satisfying as it would have been to give him a right-hook.

"I'll have you know that Andorel and I are still very much together," the elf said with an indignant sniff. "Don't go about insinuating such indecency."

"How is dear Andorel?" Arastel asked listlessly, look more peeved by the second. "I worry about him from time to time."

"And yet you can't be bothered to make the _arduous_ journey to Azshara to call on him," Valsann said with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, I can't possibly imagine _what_ would ever put me off of visiting him," Arastel responded with a pointed glare.

"He is fine. We continue to do our part for the glory of the Horde," the priest said with a grand sweep of his arm, "by slaughtering as many of the cretinous night elves trying to infiltrate Azshara as possible. It is our new hobby," he added with a pleasant smile.

"That is fascinating," Arastel said flatly. "Yet I still wait for the reason for your visit. Please don't keep me in suspense."

"Oh… yes, that," the priest said under his breath, suddenly sobering. "Andorel made me come tell you," he sighed. "Arcelia wants you back, apparently. And… it would seem she is quite insistent on your return," he finished, frowning and looking very slightly concerned.

Arastel drew himself up and then stilled. He shook his head, as if doubtful that he had heard correctly. "What? No. That is… done."

"Well, she doesn't think so," the other elf said quietly. "And really… isn't it what _she_ thinks that matters?"

The rogue made no response- gave no indication that even _would_ respond, his gaze settling somewhere beyond the priest and his shoulders slumping- and Valsann glanced at the orc and gave him a bleak look.

"I expect she will make her move soon. Just… be careful. For Andorel's sake," he added, his gaze sweeping up and down Arastel one final time.

Without another word, the elvish priest turned and made his way back through the winding, dusty streets of Orgrimmar.

* * *

"Who is Arcelia?" Gurok had waited to ask until they got home. The rogue had been unusually quiet and distant during their walk, his gaze never quite focusing and his steps heavier than usual.

"No one," Arastel said brusquely as he began gathering up dirty dishes from the living room.

"Unlikely," Gurok commented as the elf quickly made his way to the kitchen. "Considering that asinine priest specifically warned you-"

"It doesn't matter!" Arastel shouted, dropping the plates and cups into the sink with a resounding clash and clatter. He flung his arms up and stormed out of the room, hopping through the window and nimbly darting up to the roof. Gurok could hear him up there, his normal, feather-light steps exchanged for stomping and furious pacing.

"Arastel," the orc pleaded as he squeezed his bulky shoulders out of the window. "You're going to put a hole in the ceiling."

That at least got the elf to stop. There was no sign he would be coming down anytime soon, though, so Gurok sighed and pulled himself back inside.

He made a quick dinner by boiling smoked meat, greens, and a few potatoes; he poured the soup into two large wooden bowls and called Arastel down to eat, but was met with utter silence. The orc sighed and slurped his meal down alone as he thumbed through one of the rogue's thick, well-worn anatomy books by candlelight. It was dog-eared and annotated and supplemented with numerous sketches of beasts and various designs for clothing made from their hides.

He had finished his soup and was glancing over an illustration of the skeleton of a dragonhawk when the first sudden clap of thunder jolted him upright. Rainstorms were rare in Durotar, but when they _did_ occur, it was often unexpectedly and with force.

He paused, listening intently- and there it was, the sudden woosh of the sky opening up and a torrent of rain dropping upon the city.

Arastel was slipping in through the window within seconds, already sopping wet and clearly agitated.

"Looks like the ancestors wanted you indoors," the orc commented as he grabbed a thick, rough towel from near the oven and passed it to the elf.

Arastel reluctantly gave the orc a look of thanks and accepted the towel. "I needed to think. I'm… sorry, Gurok. I'm just tired."

"Then you should rest," the warrior said with concern. "Eat, that soup is still good."

Gurok kept a watchful eye on the rogue as he silently stirred and sipped at his broth. The elf sat rigidly in his seat, consumed by his troubled thoughts as he ate. He _did_ look tired- weary in the way that one gets from being on edge for too long. Gurok knew that look, that feeling. Thrallmar had festered with it in the early days, when it seemed that the outpost could be obliterated from the barren landscape at any moment.

The orc shifted restlessly, wanting to help the rogue in any way he could but uncertain of how to go about doing it. Arastel obviously wasn't going to be forthcoming with information, and Gurok doubted he would ever ask for aid.

"I don't really feel like finishing," the elf sighed as he looked down into his half-emptied bowl. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Gurok said as he stepped in to take the dish and put the rest into the small icebox in the kitchen. "Just get some sleep. Things will look differently at dawn," he said softly.

Arastel gave him a weak smile and a nod and began slowly climbing the walls and rafters until he reached his hammock. He plopped into the canvas material with a soft thud and then let out a long sigh.

Gurok watched, torn between smiling softly at the impish elf and frowning at his current predicament. Frowning won out when he noticed a quick flash of silvery steel- if he craned his neck a little, the orc found that he could make out the glimmer of a large dagger cradled against Arastel's chest.

His heavy brow furrowed. It alarmed him that Arastel was worried enough to sleep with his weapons; it disturbed him even more that the elf had made no mention of it to him. Who was he preparing to bare his blade against, and why would he not advise the orc to sleep with his axes near as well?

The warrior sighed to himself as he put out all of the lights and set buckets and old helmets out to catch any rain that dripped through the ceiling's largest cracks. His doubts and concerns would have to, for the time, go unaddressed.

* * *

Dawn came, and Gurok wasn't certain whether to be pleased or troubled by the elf's behavior. On the one hand, he was much calmer and more agreeable, which boded well for both Gurok and his roof; on the other, he seemed much more subdued, almost lethargic. Without a doubt, he was still unwell, and the orc was still at a loss as to how to restore him to his usual self.

He knew too little about the situation, about Arcelia… about _Arastel_. Or his past, rather. The most he could be certain of was that a woman named Arcelia wanted Arastel back, and the rogue did not seem pleased whatsoever by the prospect.

Very briefly, Gurok had entertained the notion that she was an old lover. He quickly dismissed the thought- why would Arastel be in such dread and turmoil over _that_?- and berated himself for having felt a smidgen of delight at the elf's quick rejection of her offer.

Pushing his thoughts aside, the orc set to making a large breakfast of porridge, bacon, and dried fruit. It was impractical, given their budget, and he knew that in two days' time he would be nursing a growling stomach and cursing himself for his irresponsibility, but he hoped to stir some sort of appetite in the elf, to cheer him in some way, and he thought that perhaps food might succeed where his words had failed.

He encouraged Arastel to eat well and indulge himself, and the smell of the hot meal did appear to rouse him slightly.

"Thank you," the elf said around a spoonful of fruit-topped porridge, his face briefly brightening. He ate slowly, carefully picking through the pieces of his meal, but frequently glanced up to offer the orc grateful looks.

Gurok grinned to himself and pulled open the news scroll, pleased to have helped improve Arastel's mood.

It was a short-lived victory, however, as an unexpected knock soon sounded on the door. The effect on the rogue was drastic- he blanched and stilled, eying the door as though a savage gronn lay in waiting just on the other side.

Gurok fought down the urge to hurry to the door and berate the unwitting cause of so much distress for the rogue; such a reaction would do nothing to help Arastel relax. Instead, he calmly put down the scroll and slowly rose from his chair. He gave the elf a brief nod- hoping it was reassuring- and unbolted the door before wrenching it open.

"Greetings," a tall elf with a long face said stiffly, his sharp eyes quickly darting around the entrance. His dark hair was pulled back in a regal-looking ponytail and his clothing was crisply tailored and elegant in the manner only elves could manage. "I am here on behalf of the Lady Arcelia. I mean to deliver an invitation to Arastel Sunswor- ah, there he is," he said brightly upon eyeing the thoroughly miserable looking elf that had silently come to stand at the orc's side.

"Arcelia," Gurok repeated, the edge of a question in his tone. His heart was already quickening; he could only imagine the effect this was having on _Arastel_. He briefly cast the elf a sidelong glance and noted that the rogue's face was perfectly blank.

"My former employer," Arastel said under his breath in way of explanation. He stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of the orc.

"'Former'?" the messenger clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "That is _not_ the case. The Lady is willing to overlook your… absence from her service," he said carefully, "provided you resume work immediately."

"I… I have not," the rogue said slowly, his glance flitting between Gurok and the messenger with increasing nervousness. He fidgeted, his thin fingers looking clumsy as he clasped and unclasped them together. "I-I don't understand. How can you ask this? After-"

"Circumstances have been unfortunate for you, yes," the elf said with a display of sympathy so brittle and fake that it made Gurok gnash his teeth. "But your contract is still intact, and you are in violation of it. However, all will be forgiven… if you will only return."

"Arastel?" the warrior questioned. Everything about the situation- this meeting, this _messenger_, this Arcelia- it all felt wrong. The distress in Arastel's eyes and brow only stoked Gurok's indignation at this intrusion.

"Are you _mad_? I have no more business with them. With her," he said bitterly, hot anger beginning to edge into his words. "I care not that she has suddenly dug up my old contract and decided I'm of use again- _she_ broke it, utterly and irreparably. And you have nothing to offer me anymore," he added sharply, resolve clear in his stance.

"Not so," the elf said with a quick smirk. "Your mother still lives, Sunsworn. For the moment," he added as an afterthought.

Arastel bristled immediately, and Gurok took it as his cue. "Speak quickly, elf, and mind your tongue if you do not wish to join the ancestors," he warned, grabbing his nearest axe for good measure. He was rewarded with the satisfying sight of the messenger blanching and wavering slightly.

"Yes, well. Lady Arcelia has seen to it that she has been cared for and… protected in your absence. But for how much longer she will be safe, the L-Lady cannot specify," the blood elf said quickly, his gaze not-so-subtly shifting to Gurok's weapon. "O-of course, if you return to your tasks-"

"If anyone lays a hand on her," the rogue hissed venomously, stepping forward and somehow managing to stare down the elf that had at least five inches on him, "I will hunt them down as I do other mangy beasts, though I will not be _nearly_ so quick or merciful with my killing blows. And you," he added, letting the tip of his index finger rest on the messenger's chest, "I'll save for last."

The blond elf was visibly sweating now. He gave them a nervous, quivering smile as he said, "T-there is a saying, about not killing the-"

"For _Arcelia's_ messengers, for messengers that carry threats toward my mother," the elf spat, "I make an exception. You had better hope no one harms a hair on her head, or you'll find yourself rather painfully separated from your skin. Whether by flaying or acid… I haven't decided yet," he added with a quick sneer.

The elvish messenger swallowed audibly at the threat. "Lady Arcelia's patience will wear thin, Sunsworn. Soon," he added with a meaningful look. "For… for all of our sake's, I would advise you abandon your pride and return," he finished, wringing his hands and pointedly avoiding looking at Gurok.

"It's not about pride," Arastel snorted. "She's deluded if she thinks that I would ever slink back to her after what she did to me," he said, his voice growing louder with every word. "And you can tell her that! But make sure you remind her about that saying- the one about not killing the messenger- first," he added as he slammed the door shut in the elf's face.

Gurok gaped. Before he could even compose a thought, before he could form the words to comfort or reassure Arastel, the elf had darted out the window and up to his sanctuary on the roof. He paced furiously, his steps causing little showers of dust and dirt to fall from the ceiling.

The orc groaned and rubbed anxiously at his face, fearful both for his friend and for the structural integrity of his home. He kept an eye on the web-like cracks as he let Arastel's fury run its course…

Until an hour or so had passed and the elf's pacing turned into sporadic bouts of stomping. After one particularly frustrated thump on the roof- which sent one of the ceiling's cracks into splintering branches- Gurok grabbed the broom and prepared to make as much noise as possible to jostle the Arastel from his destructive anger.

Just as he drew back to whack the broom against the sturdier portions of the ceiling, he saw the dark flash of the rogue swoop in through the window out of the corner of his eye.

He landed as agilely as one of Stranglethorn's stealthy predators, already dressed in his dark, serious set of armor. "I need to go get a few things from the Cleft of Shadow," he said abruptly. "I'll be gone some time. If any other messengers-"

"The Cleft? Why?" the orc asked, his immediate surprise and confusion giving way to panicked urgency. "That place is… riddled with miscreants. Only the worst sorts go there. Can you not get what you need from the auction house?"

"_No_, I can't," Arastel replied sharply, an edge to his voice that did not sit well with Gurok. He tapped his foot and fidgeted without pause.

"I'll come with you," he said at once. He quickly tossed aside the broom and grabbed his cloak and axe.

"Why?" the elf asked, his glare immediate and dubious. "I don't need you," the rogue protested, looking cross.

"I insist," Gurok said quickly. He stood by the door, waiting on the sulking rogue.

"For Light's sake," Arastel bit out, a sneer in place as he snatched his cloak from the back of a nearby chair. "You want to tail me? Fine. Whatever."

The walk to the Cleft passed in silence, with Gurok following the elf as he cut a path through the crowds by force of his sheer sullenness. Merchants went silent as he passed, not even bothering to try and entice him to buy their wares, and adventurers subtly stepped aside for the briskly walking rogue.

When they reached the cave-like entrance, Gurok paused. He licked his dry lips as he stared into the shadowy depths beyond, the anxiety that had been slowly building suddenly hitting him full-force. Where Arastel ventured so casually, he dread to set foot.

The elf stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder, giving the orc a look that he couldn't quite determine- it was hard, almost scathing, and mixed in was… distrust? A skeptical look, like Arastel was appraising him, judging him. That unsettled Gurok more than the Cleft of Shadow ever could.

"Scared?" the rogue asked caustically.

"No," Gurok bit back, the word coming out more severely than he had intended.

The rogue looked miffed at his tone, his lips twisted in a scowling sort of pout. He scoffed at the orc and proceeded down the darkened ramp, not bothering to look and see if Gurok followed.

But he did. The warrior sighed heavily and made his way down the winding, spike-lined path, barely able to distinguish Arastel's slender form from the dark mists and shadows that were a permanent fixture of the Cleft.

He lengthened his strides, feeling a vague terror clutch at his heart at the thought of losing sight of him. "Arastel, wait," he hissed, grabbing the elf's arm and spinning him around.

Eyes that glowed green with the fel turned upon him, and for a moment, Gurok was stricken with fear- he recalled demons, night raids in Hellfire, the eerie groans of the Fel Reavers.

"Gurok," the rogue muttered, his tone decidedly displeased. "I did not ask you to accompany me. Don't feel obligated to stay."

He wrenched himself free of the warrior and took a step back, apparently waiting for a reaction.

The orc took a deep breath and set his jaw. "No, I will stay." He straightened up, briefly thankful for the dimness of the cavern- his had little doubt that his face was dark with embarrassment, and it was better that Arastel not see.

The elf huffed and turned on his heel, and Gurok picked up the words "stubborn", "kodo-brained", and something distinctly Thalassian.

He lumbered after Arastel, always keeping within a few paces of the little elf, as he conducted his business.

Gurok didn't think he had ever felt so utterly unwanted, so thoroughly scrutinized. Within moments he felt clammy head-to-toe and his stomach flopped uneasily.

He had been in the Cleft of Shadow many times before, but only on patrol or as a last-resort shortcut when he absolutely did not have the time to take the path around. Lingering here in his simple clothing and light armor was far different than just passing through in Kor'kron plate and tabard.

During his brief forays into the den of Orgrimmar's undesirables, he had made it personal policy to see as little as possible. He'd moved quickly and purposefully, kept his eyes trained on the path in front of him, and ignored the noises of capering imps and demonic chanting, as all of Orgrimmar seemed to do. He had never made eye contact with anyone, never said a word.

But judging by the intense looks that he was receiving, they shady regulars here recognized him. The murmuring of the warlocks quieted as he passed, all of them silent and staring, and more than one _sneering_. He squared his shoulders and tried not to feel as though his every move was being watched by a dozen pairs of eyes.

Vendors discreetly swept merchandise off of the tables as they approached, eyeing him suspiciously, and more than once he heard Arastel sigh and try to explain to them that he was in no position to be reporting _anyone_ to the authorities.

"Why do you need so much poison?" Gurok asked as the rogue handed him a few oddly colored bottles that he'd just purchased, bringing the total to at least two dozen vials. It was difficult to keep the distaste out of his tone. Poison was not an honorable way to fight- it was a weapon of convenience over skill, trickery over strength. This was one area in which Arastel did _not_ strike him as an orc at heart.

"Do you really want to know?" the elf muttered, flashing the warrior a dark look.

"I suppose not," Gurok muttered, his gaze falling to the ground. He tucked Arastel's bottles away into pockets and the pouches on belt, looking anywhere but at the elf.

He waited patiently as they visited the next unscrupulous character, and then the next. He stood stalwartly by, trying to quell the rising sensation of nausea and remain attentive to Arastel's conversations at the same time.

The smell and taste of the purplish, faintly glowing haze that floated, stagnant, in the air of the Cleft of Shadow was _bitter_. It made it hard to take the deep breaths that Gurok found soothed his stomach, and he wondered at how the rogue could stand it. By the time they emerged into the city proper once again, the orc felt thoroughly sickened. Even the bright light and clean air couldn't cleanse him of the sensation of dark haze filling his mouth and throat.

"You look ill," the elf noted as they made their way back to the house.

"I _feel_ ill, after that," Gurok explained gruffly.

"I see," Arastel said under his breath, doubling his pace and striding ahead of the orc.

"Arastel," the warrior groaned as he saw the rogue begin to edge away. "For the love of the ancestors," he muttered as he was left behind. He was in no mood to run after the elf- not with his innards still twisted tight from the Cleft of Shadow and not with Arastel's sour mood.

He grumbled his way back to his neighborhood. He could see smoke rising from the chimney of his home, but he held off any hope of Arastel making any dinner for him.

Gurok heard a shriek and a giggle, and he turned just in time to see a cart barreling toward him. The warrior leapt to the side, as did the few other pedestrians, pressing himself up against the sheer rock wall of the canyon and barely avoiding a run-in with the rickety wooden cart and the large goat pulling it.

He cursed as it rolled past at breakneck speed, the two young boys at the reigns howling and guffawing as they tore through the narrow street. A moment later Gurok saw two grunts and an older orc- possibly the ruffians' father- run past in hot pursuit.

The warrior pushed himself away from the wall and shook his head. With a weary sigh, he dragged himself the rest of the way home.

"You didn't buy more wood," was his greeting when he arrived.

The orc shut the door and bolted it, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long while. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and _rest._

"-like you said you would," Arastel was saying. The elf prodded at the meager fire with the poker. "That's why I gave _you_ the gold rather than getting it myself. You could have gone and gotten it while I was shopping. Would've been better than you trailing me."

Gurok couldn't even find the energy to speak. He wasn't certain why the rogue was so concerned about the fire anyway- the room felt far too hot, if anything.

The orc resigned himself to a displeased elf for the night; he also decided he'd prefer to skip dinner and go straight to bed, but soon found he couldn't muster the strength to even walk to the bedroom.

"Gurok, are you even listeni- Gurok? Gurok, are you alright?"

There was concern in the elf's voice, and that reassured the warrior even as the room began swaying.

He slumped against the wall, drained of energy, his legs weak and strangely numb. He felt feverish and dazed; the edges of his vision began to warp and blur unsettlingly.

Arastel's light hands seemed to be on him everywhere at once. He could feel his sweat-soaked clothing being torn away, and at some point he had ended up on the floor, staring up at the ceiling- or where the ceiling _should_ have been, because in its place was a swirling mass of darkness that seemed to grow with every passing second, reaching and pulling everything toward it as though it was the inevitable end of all things. The maw of Deathwing, the void of icy death, the heart of the Twisting Nether; it was all of these things at once, as terrifying as his darkest nightmares and a thousand times more potent.

And then something cool and sickly sweet was crammed into his mouth, and green and gold filled his vision, blocking out the monstrous, spiraling shadow.

He felt his jaw moving, felt a light pressure on his throat that encouraged him to swallow.

Gurok wasn't certain of how much time had passed; the heat was slowly subsiding and his vision was beginning to come back into focus. Best of all, the ceiling was back- right where it should be, with cracks and cobwebs and Arastel's hammock.

His mouth felt dry and sticky, and he couldn't have lifted a limb if his life depended on it, but he was relieved that whatever it was had passed.

"Gurok? Oh, Gurok, I'm so sorry." Arastel was hovering over him, a damp cloth in hand to dab at his forehead and neck. "Are you alright?"

"Thirsty," the orc groaned.

"You can't drink anything yet. I'm sorry," he added, smoothing his hand across the warrior's damp, mussed hair. "Not until you've worked all the poison out."

"P-poison? I was poisoned?"

The elf made a pathetic noise. "Yes, and I feel terrible, Gurok. I- it's like I can't _not_ ruin your life," he complained as he ran the blessedly cool rag across the orc's chest. "It looks as though one of the bottles must have broken while you were carrying it- a rather potent blend of purple lotus and nightmare vine extracts, with a bit of firebloom and blindweed as well. There was a streak of it all down the side of your leg," he explained. "I had to burn your clothes. Sorry. I'll make you new ones. A whole set. A wardrobe."

"Not your fault," the warrior rasped. "I… on the way back I had to dodge some brats with a cart. I probably crushed one when I threw myself up out of the way. Didn't feel it at all. But that comes with having thick skin," he said as he gave him a shaky grin.

"Yes, well, your thick skin only _delayed_ the effect," the elf sighed. "I am _terribly_ sorry you went through that. I save that particular concoction for clients who have decided to renege on contracts with me. It causes paralysis, hallucinations, blurry vision, burning fever- all very unpleasant, but not lethal... in the correct doses."

"Thank you for curing me," Gurok whispered.

"Don't thank me for fixing problems that I've been the cause of," he chided. "Your fever seems to have subsided. Are you seeing any horrible visions of the Twisting Nether?"

"Uh, not anymore."

"Good. I think you can have a little sip of water, then," he said with a quick pat on the orc's chest.

Gurok listened to the elf's footsteps and he ventured outside to the pump and soon returned with a pitcher of cool well-water. He knelt next to the orc's head and poured just a bit of water into his open mouth, wiping away the droplets that dribbled from the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

Gurok wished he could have appreciated that more, but his mind was occupied with other concerns. "So… you said that you burned my clothes."

"My apologies. But you needed new ones anyway, didn't you? I'll make you stuff that's _twice_ as good. To, ah, make up for almost killing you," the elf said sheepishly as he stood, pitcher in hand.

"What am I wearing right now?" he asked apprehensively. The warrior tried in vain to lift his head enough to get a good look at his own body.

"Oh." Arastel stood awkwardly, looking down and scanning the orc from head to toe and back again. "Well, when I noticed the broken bottle, I was just frantic to make certain to get it all off of you, so... I just got rid of all of it."

"So I'm not wearing anything?"

"Nothing," the elf said. A tiny smirk began to pull at his lips.

The warrior groaned and let his head thump weakly back against the floor.

"Oh, Gurok. Don't be so dramatic. You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of." He took a sip from the tin pitcher as he let his gaze drift to the side. "Absolutely nothing," he repeated quietly. He glanced down at Gurok and waggled his eyebrows.

"Ancestors," the orc muttered, feeling his whole body go hot again.

"Tell me, are all orcs so, er… prodigious in girth?"

"Arastel. Please." All Gurok wanted in that moment was to sink into the floor, or at the very least to bury his face in his hands so he could make believe that he wasn't so utterly exposed. But he couldn't even curl his fingers, much less move his arms, so he squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.

He heard the clink of the pitcher being set down and then the soft padding of feet. The orc then felt the light flutter of cool, soft fabric against his skin and cracked his eyes open.

"How much can you move?" Arastel asked as he tucked the edges of the silky smooth blanket underneath him. Gurok recognized it as one of the elf's favorites. "Fingers and toes?"

"A little, yes. I can sort of… flex," he frowned. His limbs responded weakly to his thoughts, moving the barest bit.

"I can't carry you to bed," the rogue stated simply. "Do you mind if I bring your stuff out here?"

"Please," the orc said quietly.

He let the elf cover him with a few furs and tuck a pillow under his head, and when the elf insisted on brushing his teeth and tusks, he reluctantly acquiesced.

"So," Arastel sighed as he made up his own bed on the floor beside the orc- Gurok thought it like a little nest, almost- and wriggled under the mass of red blankets. "I was a right prick to you earlier, and seeing you lying on the ground like that made me very much regret my piss poor attitude. I'd be… I'd be really upset if that rant had been the last thing you'd heard from me."

"I'll get the wood tomorrow," the warrior promised.

There was a soft 'whap' as the elf smacked Gurok's shoulder. "You'll do no such thing. I wasn't trying to remind you about the wood. I was apologizing for being so disagreeable. I was being an ass to you, and you didn't deserve it. You'd never deserve it. I don't know how I forgot that," he muttered, biting his lip.

"You have a lot on your shoulders-"

"No, no," Arastel said quickly. "I just… this business with Arcelia's got me all turned round. Like a hawkstrider with its head cut off. I'm sorry I doubted you, Gurok," he said, now biting his lip so hard that Gurok thought it must hurt terribly.

"Doubted me?"

The rogue slid his hands over his face and through his hair as he groaned. "You've done nothing but help and support me, but at the first mention of her name I'm suspicious of everyone, from Betila to the auctioneers… to you. And Light knows _you_ don't deserve that," he muttered, looking disgusted with himself.

The orc made a soft noise of comprehension. "Last night… you slept with a dagger because of _me_," he stated. That stung.

"I… I'm so sorry," Arastel said quickly, his voice uneven. "I'm being paranoid. And overly sensitive. About everything. I'm sorry, I really… I haven't got a handle on this yet."

Gurok clenched his jaw and made a low noise. It seemed that every passing day only strengthened his belief that this Arcelia needed an axe to the face. "So you were worried that I… worked for her?"

"No, that would be unlikely," the elf murmured. "Kor'kron don't usually fall into her hands. I was worried she'd get to you, or already had. That she would… tell you things about me. Things that would make you hate me, not want to be around me."

"I would never-"

"I know that most orcs don't rank rogues very highly in terms of honor," the elf said with a shrug, "and you just seemed so… so sickened by the Cleft of Shadow. By me. By what I do. I mean, you've mentioned how much you hate it, and I understand to an extent, being Kor'kron, and an orc, and a warrior, how that could bother you, but-"

"That's not why," Gurok interrupted.

"What?"

"It's not like that," he said simply. "My behavior in the Cleft. It's… about me. Personal. Things of a personal nature," he mumbled, turning his head to the side.

Arastel made a small noise of understanding and sat back. "Oh… I'm sorry, Gurok. There I was, only thinking about myself. Again. I assumed you were disgusted with me. I didn't stop to think… you might have your own issues."

The orc shrugged weakly. "It is alright." His breath hitched for a second. "If I told you… would you consider telling me? About Arcelia?"

The rogue stiffened at the proposal. "I would _consider_ it," he said reluctantly, his gaze slipping to the floor.

Gurok nodded to himself and stared straight up at the ceiling. "My father," he said quietly. "He was- he was a mage. We _say_ he was a mage," he amended. "Because it is better that way."

"A warlock," Arastel clarified in a whisper. He shifted in his blankets, wriggling forward until he was closer.

The warrior nodded the barest bit. "Our people are wary of mages. But they _despise_ warlocks," he said in soft tones. "Even after he died, there were still… a lot of rumors. And all it really takes is a rumor," he added.

"That sounds… difficult," Arastel said gently, his brow furrowed.

"It was at times," he agreed. He idly experimented again with how much he could move, frowning when his fingers only responding with slight twitching. "I imagine this is all silly to you, given how accepted magic is in Silvermoon."

The rogue shook his head. "It is embraced, yes, but there are still stigmas… warlocks don't seem very popular outside of the Undercity, to be honest."

"That is true," Gurok said with a quiet sigh.

"So what was your father like? If you don't mind my asking," Arastel said with a cautious smile.

"I don't mind," the orc answered. "He was… quiet. A thinker, my mother always said. He would often bring home flowers for her and little pieces of ivory for me to practice etching and carving. He knew how to handle daggers, so he taught me that. He was very kind," he added.

The elf smiled faintly at that. "I barely remember my own father," he said with a half shrug. "He died not long after I was born. My uncle taught me what I needed to know instead."

The warrior nodded. "My father also died when I was young. He was killed. By another warlock," he said quietly. "From what I understand, it was out of jealously. And very… malicious. There was no body left to bury."

"And what of him, the murderer?" the elf said darkly. "Surely he does not still live?"

"No, he was killed shortly after during a raid on a Burning Blade encampment," Gurok said flatly.

There was a subdued silence for a few moments before the orc spoke again.

"I'm convinced that place holds no happy fates for its adherents," he explained with a slight tremor. "So I strived to grow strong in my own right, to avoid that path. People were suspicious of me at first, but in time I removed myself from my father's shadow. And I was glad for it. But not all were," he sighed. "My childhood… _friend_, Ortok, resented me for it. He was always small, for an orc. Weak. I never minded it, because we were close. But he wanted all of the things that I didn't."

The warrior paused as he recalled the orc from his past. "One day, he stopped coming to training. I would see him walking to the Cleft of Shadow every day after that. He tried to convince me to go with him, but I couldn't, not after my father… Ortok wanted me to 'embrace what I truly am'," the orc muttered. "He thought that _I _was the coward for not joining him. Maybe it is so. Even now, I can hardly stand the place."

"I don't think it's cowardly to choose your own path, especially at the cost of a loved one. I think that could be one of the hardest things in the world, actually," Arastel said with a fond smile, tilting his head as he studied the orc.

"Thank you," the warrior murmured, glancing at the elf out of the corner of his eye.

"But if you're so… affected by the Cleft, why did you insist so stubbornly on following me there? You said yourself only the worst types go there," Arastel said in a gently teasing tone.

"It's true. I wanted to make sure none of them tried to hurt you," the orc said quietly.

"Oh, Gurok," the rogue said slowly, his expression of doubt and concern briefly turning into something much more tender and appreciative. "That's… so unnecessary and misguided, but so, so sweet."

The warrior grunted in response, pointedly refraining from meeting the elf's gaze. He felt his neck and face quickly grow warm, and suddenly the furs and blanket that covered him felt stiflingly hot. "Could you get me more water?" he asked in a croak.

"Absolutely, absolutely," Arastel said quickly as he nimbly hopped to his feet and grabbed the orc's cup. "Anything you want, Gurok. Anything at all, and I'll do it for you."

"Tell me about Arcelia?" he asked hopefully, his heavy brows lifting slightly.

The elf's breath hitched. A tired, dubious smile was faint on his lips. He finished pouring water into the small cup and carefully passed it back to the orc. "Anything but _that_."

* * *

"We're, uh, reporting to Betila," Gurok said to the pair of burly, dim-witted guards blocking the door. He glanced concernedly to the rogue beside him; Arastel had been on edge ever since the summons arrived. He was half-convinced that Betila had already become a puppet of Arcelia, and even now he seemed to expect a trap- the elf bounced on the balls of his feet nervously and appeared ready to grab his daggers at a moment's notice.

Gurok sincerely hoped the situation didn't escalate here. An anxious, trigger-happy rogue could do a lot of damage very quickly, and the last thing Arastel needed was more enemies. The orc was optimistic that even if Betila planned to distance herself from them in light of this situation, she might still at least be fairly neutral in the matter.

After all, how much could this mysterious Arcelia do all the way from Silvermoon? But Orgrimmar was where Betila's connections were, and if she _was _on Arcelia's puppet-strings… well, that would be problematic indeed.

"Nuh-uh, no see mean goblin. She not see anybody today," the slightly more intelligent of the two ogres insisted. He crossed his thick arms and frowned at the pair.

"We have orders from her," Arastel said with a heavy sigh, daintily extending the slip of parchment toward the pair and looking very much as though he'd rather be anywhere but here. "See? Her signature and seal and everything. And she's demanding that we come post haste to discuss some matter of moderate importance with her. Have a look for yourself," he offered.

Both of them leaned in and, after a moment, the one that had spoken before shook his head. "No trust twiggy little elf. Has beady eyes and seems desperate," he said to his burly partner.

"Excuse you, you great oaf," the rogue snarled. "I am most certainly _not_ twiggy," he growled, accentuating each of his words with a hard poke to the ogre's protruding stomach, "and my eyes are-are-are _luminous_, and _ethereal_, and _perfectly sized_, and they are windows into my very soul, and they are _not_ _beady_," he hissed, said eyes burning with a ferocious glare.

Gurok deliberately placed himself between the heaving, sneering elf and the pair of ogres. "You can't read, right?" he confirmed.

"Reading… dumb," the quieter of the pair announced, a deep-set frown on his heavy lips.

"This is a letter from the mean goblin," the orc explained, snatching the paper from Arastel. "See how angry the writing looks?"

"Yeah, that her writing," one said with a slow nod. "She make the little dots by stabbing the paper."

"And this writing tells us to be here right now, or else she'll have us beaten," Gurok continued in a slow, even voice.

"Uh oh," the larger one said with a concerned look.

"Yes, uh oh," the warrior agreed. "So if you don't let us in, we'll be in trouble. And _you'll_ probably be in trouble, too. How mad do you think she would be if you ruined her meeting with us?"

"Real mad," they said in unison, their jaws slack as the scenario ran through their minds. "Okay, smart orc go inside," the ogre in charge said suddenly, stepping aside and waving for Gurok to pass him.

"Thank you. The elf needs to come with me. He's my friend." When that seemed insufficient to the guards, he gave the rogue an apologetic look and added, "He, uh, reads and writes for me. So I don't have to."

"Oh, that good slave to have," one of the ogres said matter-of-factly, suddenly eyeing Arastel interestedly. "Reading dumb, just get someone else to do it. That smart."

"He smart orc," the other ogre agreed. "You go see Betila," he said to the both of them. "No one _want_ see her unless they have to… you must really, really have to," he reasoned, nodding to himself.

Gurok gave the pair of ogres a quick smile and ducked past them, Arastel in tow. Before he could talk himself out of it, the warrior reached over to give the elf's upper arm a squeeze that he hoped was reassuring.

Bright green eyes caught his and a pleased smile rounded the rogue's lips. Arastel placed his hand over the warrior's, running his thumb over the orc's knuckles and squeezing it gently... and then he took hold and guided it to the hilt of the hefty axe at the warrior's waist.

Gurok nodded, knowing that if this meeting went wrong in the worst possible ways, he would be holding off those two ogre guards as long as it took for the elf to make his escape. He briefly wished that he'd brought a bigger axe, or at least a shield, though it would have made them more suspicious.

They stepped through the entryway cautiously. Betila's little base of operations was as crowded and cluttered as ever, and for a moment, the warrior wasn't certain whether she was actually in at all.

"Oh, so you two made it past Dumb and Dumber? Can't say I'm surprised, exactly," a slightly grating voice piped up from behind a large crate. She slinked over to her desk and began to dig around in the stacks of papers. "But it's always good to test your employees from time to time. Pays to know the weaknesses in your security, too."

"Why did you suddenly post them out there?" Arastel asked, pursing his lips and running a finger across the back of a dusty chair.

"None of ya business," she said curtly as she fished out a crinkled piece of paper. She beckoned them both closer, and with an exchange of hesitant looks, they acquiesced. "I just wanted an extra buffer between me and all the people that wanna pester me," she explained giving them both an exaggerated glare. "I just need- whoa, whoa. What's the deal with your arm there?"

Gurok startled as the little goblin suddenly grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him down to her level. "I had it healed-"

"Yeah? And who did this bang up job?" she said caustically, grimacing as she peeled up the remaining bandages and saw the peaks of a large, jagged scar.

"I believe his name was Glark Spriteplug," Gurok mumbled, not really wanting to recall the less than satisfying experience.

"Oh, that guy? He's a hack! A total charlatan!" Betila scoffed, waving her arms in irritation. "I oughtta go stick him in some plate and toss him into the Southfury. See if levitation gets him outta _that_, huh?" she said with a fierce nod. "Seriously, the _balls_ on that guy…"

Even Arastel smirked lightly at that. "I tried to patch up what the healer didn't get," he said with a frown, "but… bandages and salve only do so much."

"Ugh, you two…" he groaned as she massaged her temples. "Okay, listen up. I keep a couple of quality healers around for my people, okay?" the goblin continued, already thumbing through a stack of business cards. She pulled out a few and passed them to the pair. "You get hurt on the job and you go to _them_. Not some lousy shadow priests trying to pass as healers to get some coin. Alright?"

Gurok nodded and tucked the cards into a pocket on the shirt under his armor.

"Now… we have a few things to discuss," she said evenly, her large eyes coolly surveying each of them. She hopped up on her chair and leaned back, her fingers steepled. "Word is there's suddenly some bad blood between you and Arcelia of Silvermoon," she said to Arastel.

"Suddenly?" the elf asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Well, a stoking of the flames, if you will," she said instead.

"I suppose," he murmured, licking his lips nervously.

"Arastel- I've known you for what, like a week now? And you don't trust me?" she asked with a dramatic sigh. "I'm hurt. Wounded. Honestly. Please relax with the knife, okay? I'm not about to sell you out to that thistled-out blood elf bitch. Pardon my Thalassian," she added as an afterthought.

Gurok's head swiveled toward the rogue, and sure enough, his hand had been hovering an inch from a throwing knife strapped to his thigh. "Arastel," he murmured, eyes narrowing as he realized that the elf had also slowly maneuvered until his back was against a wall and he could keep an eye on the entrance door.

"Can never be too careful," he told Betila with a shrug. He bowed his head slightly in apology.

"I understand that," she said easily. "You are fully entitled to be suspicious of me. I'm an up-front gal for the most part, though, so I'll lay it out. You're far and away the best rogue I've got- your work on that job in Booty Bay? _Wonderful_. Now, I'd very much like to extend our little contract, but this causes a few complications given Arcelia's recent interest in reacquiring you. However, I'm willing to deal with whatever messiness she causes, because in the long run… I think you'll help make me an even richer woman."

"Arcelia has a lot of wealth at her disposal," the rogue said tentatively, subtly shifting his weight. "Certainly enough to increase your fortune considerably."

"And every gold coin of hers comes with a string attached," the goblin said, her eyes intense. "I'm not interested in being anyone's pawn, much less _hers_. I don't need her to give me money when I have the means to _take_ it," she added seriously.

"You're really going to take her on?" the elf asked with wide eyes, looking equal parts dubious and impressed.

Betila gave him a crooked smile. "I think she's been sitting at the top for long enough. Her monopoly on Silvermoon certainly doesn't help those of us trying to expand. So what do ya say? You can either handle her alone, or you can get someone in your corner."

Arastel stared at the floor as he considered. When he looked back up, it was with an expression that Gurok had never seen on him before. He'd often had a hard time imagining the elf as the battle-hardened, dangerous rogue that he doubtlessly was, but now… with that look, he could very much believe that Arastel was an efficient killer. The orc swallowed thickly.

"I don't want a repeat of what happened in Silvermoon," he said, deadly serious. "You understand?"

"Absolutely," the goblin said at once. "I respect that completely. You'll find I'm actually pretty tame compared to Arcelia, and I treat my guys and gals pretty well. I don't play the game on the same field that she does, either," she murmured. "And I'll keep Gurok on as well," she added, her gaze momentarily darting toward the orc, "because I think he's good for you."

"I… appreciate that," the warrior said quietly, carefully watching the elf and the goblin. Betila looked pleased as she set to writing up another contract, and Arastel… well, he didn't look quite as angry or nervous, and he wasn't still sporting that grim mask of an expression. His shoulders looked tense, but he was also visibly relieved at the quick resolution.

"Gotta crack some skulls," Betila muttered as she scratched furiously away at the parchment, leaning forward and bobbing her head menacingly.

Arastel chuckled and rolled his shoulders. "Yes, there will be plenty of that," he sighed.

"We'll see how things play out, won't we?" she said pleasantly. She jabbed the paper a few times with her quill and then turned it over to them for inspection. "Look it over. If you like it, sign it. If not-"

"More," was all Arastel said. He smiled charmingly as he passed the paper back toward her. "I know what my going rate is."

"You're all business now," the goblin noted, leaning back and giving him an admiring look. "I like it," she decided, amending the contract to increase his due pay. "And is this more to your liking, Sirrah Sunsworn?"

The elf smiled roguishly and gave his approval to the new contract. He signed with a flourish and then handed it to Gurok.

The orc sighed tiredly and began to scrawl his own name underneath Arastel's. His gaze drifted up the page for a moment and suddenly he stilled. "A thousand gold? A thousand _per week_?" he gaped.

"You're missing the part about the per diem, too," Arastel said, pointing to another section of the contract. "For expenses on the job. Your salary will only be half of mine, though," he said apologetically.

"Five-hundred a week? For me alone?" the warrior asked in shock. "I got that munch in a _month_ in the Kor'kron," he said, disbelief still drawn across his face.

"Well, I'd say you've paid your dues," Betila grinned. "Consider it just another example of my respect and admiration for our boys and girls in the Orgrimmar tabard," she said with a wink. "But really, this place would be bedlam without you and the city guards, let me tell you. You don't get paid nearly what you deserve for putting up with the shit I've seen," she murmured as she affixed her own scratchy signature to the contract.

"No," Arastel agreed. "Hopefully this begins to make up for me ruining your life a dozen or so times over the last fortnight," he said with a half-grin, half-grimace. "And you taking me in and putting up with me and all that."

"You two livin' together now? That was fast," the goblin said with raised eyebrows. "I owe some people some gold, then. Well, nevermind- congratulations you two!" she said over Gurok's stammering. "I know you're gonna make it work. And I want an invitation to the ceremony- consider that included in this contract," she added, tapping the document with a long purple nail. "Let me just go get your assignment. I'll be right back, huns."

Arastel flashed the orc a wide grin.

"She thinks we're-"

"I know, Gurok, I was standing here, too," the elf laughed.

The orc inhaled deeply and shook his head. "And she made it sound like there was a bet going."

"It's not such an odd thing for people to believe," Arastel said with a shrug. "Two incredibly handsome individuals like ourselves constantly being seen with each other? I'd have suspicions as well."

Gurok had to laugh, if only at 'incredibly handsome' being used to describe him. A warm feeling settled into the pit of his stomach at the elf's comment. "And you don't mind that?"

"What?"

"_That_. That they think that about you… and me."

"Of course not," the elf said bemusedly. "You're-"

"Here it is!" Betila said as she briskly returned. "It's a _big_ one, too- you'll both need to go. First thing tomorrow, in fact."

"Where?" Arastel asked, seemingly oblivious to Gurok's stare as the orc waited with baited breath for the elf to complete his thought. Neither did he appear to notice the frown that settled over green lips as the warrior realized he would likely never know what the other had intended to say.

"Uldum. More Nefersest business," she said with a smile. "Dress for searing, burning heat and pack enough to last you two or three weeks- this one is a long haul. And make sure you visit the stables tonight and get a summoning spell done for your mounts, too," she warned. "Here, I have gold for you to buy supplies. Make it stretch, will ya?"

They each accepted a heavy coinpurse from the little goblin. "I want you both to be at the Earthshrine by dawn and through that portal, do you understand? Timing is imperative for this."

They nodded.

"Thank you, Betila," Gurok said as they prepared to leave, anxious to get started on preparing for the trip.

"Yes," Arastel agreed. "I very much appreciate this… new start."

"Not a problem, not a problem- oh! Gurok. Dear, sweet, ridiculously strong Gurok. Could you do me a favor and start earning your pay right now?" Betila asked slyly.

"Oh… certainly," the orc said, eager to work toward the salary he still didn't quite feel he deserved.

"I have about fifteen more crates like this one clogging up my storage room. _I_ can't make them budge, of course, and I tried getting those two clods outside to help but they're stupid as… well, ogres."

Gurok grunted and nodded sharply. Brute strength was something he could do- he was finally in his element. "Of course."

Arastel made a thoughtful noise and tapped against the door handle. "It's almost noon and still so many errands to run… I'll go get started on them. I wouldn't be much help with this," he said, gesturing to the room, "anyway. Sort of _your_ area of expertise."

"That's fine, babe. You just go take care of business. Gotta keep that throat-slitting hand in good condition," she added with a wink. "No heavy lifting for you."

The elf grinned and gave her a salute. "I'll start on dinner around six bellows of the horns," he told Gurok. "After you're done here, you should probably get the mount situation worked out and get everything _you_ need all ready. I'll get food and supplies for us."

"Alright," the warrior agreed, waving as Arastel slipped out the door.

"Oh, you two," Betila said with a snort, slapping Gurok on the thigh. "You make me wish I hadn't sued my ex for everything he had." She sighed wistfully. "Anyway, let's move these big, stinkin' crates. Chop chop."

Betila directed the orc as he carried the heavy crates filled with questionable material, stacking and positioning them as the space would allow. It was hard work, and it made Gurok strain and sweat, but he was grateful. It felt as though he was earning his gold this way.

During a brief break when Betila gave him water and old dried biscuits to eat, he decided to fish for the information that Arastel was reluctant to give him. Betila seemed to have a much better understanding of the circumstances the elf was dealing with than he did.

"So who is Arcelia and why should we be worried about her?" he asked around a mouthful of food.

"Arcelia?" the goblin asked as counted out stacks of gold coins and updated her record books. "Oh, she's serious business. She has her hand in all sorts of shady dealings in Silvermoon. Theft, bribery, murder, extortion, counterfeiting, bloodthistle, prostitution- her ring runs almost all of it. They say that half of the nobles in Silvermoon are under her thumb to some extent. She's all about power and manipulation."

"So what would she want with Arastel?" the orc questioned, his thick brow furrowing slightly.

"Are you kidding? The same thing I want with him. That guy is a pro. _And_ he's a Sunsworn. He's been blowing the rest of my guys out of the water. Truth be told, if I'd been cracking you two a fair deal, having him in my employ should have been plenty in return for those axes. The contract you two just signed didn't even do him justice, really. But I don't think he's all about the gold anymore."

Gurok digested that for a few moments. He'd seen the way the elven rogue moved; it left little doubt in his mind that Arastel was skilled as slipping up behind his enemies. Though Gurok had never dwelled on it- had purposely tried _not_ to, he supposed- he had had enough hints as to the rogue's real area of expertise, and it only made sense that competing cartels and trade bosses would go to great lengths for a good assassin. "What do you mean, 'and he's a Sunsworn'?"

"Seriously, big guy?" she asked with a look of surprise. "Oh, that's right, I suppose most folk on the up and up around here wouldn't know… The Sunsworns, big name sindorei family. They're practically synonymous with the bloodthistle trade. I wanna say it's one of his uncles that pretty much runs their whole operation."

"Oh. Yes, he smells of it often. But I've never seen him smoke it," the orc said quietly.

"Yeah, I doubt he does," the goblin agreed. "That stuff packs the most punch for magic users. And part of the reason the Sunsworns have been so successful is because they're pretty good about not getting addicted to their own merchandise. Anyway, I can see why that Arcelia would want him back. He's got family ties to one of the biggest bloodthistle outfits in Silvermoon, and he's one damn good rogue when it comes to… certain jobs."

He made a thoughtful noise. "And here I was, thinking I was doing him a favor. Letting a down-on-his-luck rogue pick through Grommash Hold," the orc scoffed.

"Well, that place is a tough nut to crack for even a skilled assassin," the goblin shrugged. "And I can't think of any hired blade with the balls to try going after Hellscream, to be honest. For what it's worth, he probably _was_ pretty down at the time. I don't think he'd taken on a single assassination or big heist until I started assigning them to him. But petty crime is sort of a waste of a rogue with skills like his, y'know?"

Gurok nodded and wrapped his arms around another crate. "Why come live in the slums here and turn to such mischief for gold if his family controls the bloodthistle trade?" he questioned as he hauled the box to the back of the room.

"I imagine that part of laying low involves _not_ sending correspondences to old friends and family," Betila shrugged. "_And_ not paying visits to the family bank vault. He obviously didn't want to be found very easily, even by his kin back in Silvermoon- why else would he come to Orgrimmar? The slackjaws here don't know half of what goes on with the elves. But I had an inkling that he was a Sunsworn when you two first showed up, y'know? I just knew," she said nonchalantly, her eyes fluttering shut as she gave a self-satisfied shrug.

"And how's that?"

"I got sources," she said in a secretive whisper. Her playful grin made the orc smile. "Heard from a friend that the runaway Sunsworn was somewhere in Orgrimmar a while back. I kept an ear out, but the last thing I wanted to do was hunt him down when he's obviously been keen on running free," she said with a thoughtful tilt of her head. "And miracle of miracles, you two just dropped into my lap during that whole ordeal with Hellscream's axes- he matched my friend's description of him down to the last freckle. What can I say? I'mma lucky gal."

"We're lucky, too, I suppose," he said before shoving a crate into place, grunting with the effort it took to slide it across the floor. "Finding you."

"Oh! You're sweet," she giggled, waving off the compliment. "No wonder he likes you."

"I-I don't…" The orc cleared his throat loudly and struggled to regain his grip on the heavy crate that had begun to slip out of his hands. Under Betila's watchful gaze, the red-faced orc returned to his task with single-minded devotion and absolutely no desire for any more chitchat.

* * *

It was dusk by the time Gurok made it home; just a bit past the sixth bellow of the horns. Before he even opened the door, he caught the scent of something unfamiliar and delicious wafting from within.

"Gurok!" the elf greeted as soon as he entered. From the rafters. With a wickedly curved dagger in each hand.

"Is this something I need to get used to?" the orc asked, gesturing to the rogue's upside-down form.

"Sorry, sorry," Arastel murmured as he tucked the blades back into their sheaths and swung down from the crossbeam. "Just… still a little wary. I'll be happy to leave the city for a while," he said, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck.

"It will be a nice break," Gurok agreed. "Something you made smells wonderful, by the way," he commented as he put down the bags of supplies he'd gotten on the way back. "I could smell it outside."

Arastel grinned broadly as he trotted over to the kitchen area. "Roasted quail with wine marinated vegetables, smoked salmon crepes, and butter cake," he said proudly. "I figure we'll have orcish style cooking during the trip, so why not have an elvish sendoff?" he added with a shrug.

Gurok smiled and sniffed deeply. "I've never had real elvish cooking. I can't wait to try it," he said enthusiastically, already pulling plates and knives from the cupboards.

"Oh, should be almost done," the elf said as he slipped past to check the oven. "The cake looks- ah, son of a thrice-damned Amani," he hissed, a string of Thalassian curses following as he sucked on his burned finger. "Yeah, it's almost ready. You can start plating if you'd like."

"I don't think I have any forks," the orc said with a grimace. "These vegetables are chopped pretty small… will spoons be alright?"

"Of course," the rogue assured him, looking more concerned with tending to his baking cake.

"Is there a certain order or…" Gurok trailed off, his hand hovering as he looked to the blood elf for guidance as to which side of the plate the spoon belonged on.

"For the love of the Light, Gurok," Arastel laughed, "it's just food, I really don't care about the table manners that go along with it. What we've been doing is _fine_."

"You're certain?" the warrior asked skeptically.

"I like the occasional taste of home, that's all. I don't miss," he waved his hand around vaguely, "well… I guess I don't really miss much of anything else about it. Certainly not this bullshit with crime bosses there. Not trifling over salad forks and dinner forks and desert forks and soup forks-"

"Soup forks?" Gurok interrupted with a snort.

"Okay, I was exaggerating on _that_ one," Arastel sighed. "But you know what I mean. I would argue that this entire meal could be eaten with our bare hands," he shrugged. "Why bother with silverware at all? Just more dishes to clean."

Gurok chortled, choking for a moment on the water he'd been drinking. "I agree," he said, picking up his quail and setting it on his plate. He daintily pulled off one leg and nibbled carefully at the meat.

"Gurok," Arastel said at once, looking scandalized. "Pinkies up, _please_. We're not savages," he chided as tore into his own small bird.

The orc chuckled as raised both his pinky fingers as high as they would go.

They ate in amiable silence, but as the meal wore on, Gurok could see more and more of Arastel's bubbly attitude dissipating. By the time they reached dessert, the elf was somberly slicing the thin, buttery, sugar-topped cake in half.

"You carry sorrow on your shoulders," the orc said plainly as he accepted the plate of pastry that was offered to him. "And on your brow. In your eyes," he added softly.

Arastel glanced up at him, his glowing eyes wide in surprise. His mouth opened and shut a few times as a response escaped him. "You're very observant," the rogue noted as he tore off a chunk of his dessert, his cheeks briefly flushing light red.

"I would help you carry that burden, if you would only let me," Gurok burst out, his hands curling into fists out of frustration.

"Gurok, you… you don't need to worry about me. I will take care of it," he said flatly, his long ears drooping as set the rest of his food down. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "I-I'm almost done with your clothes. I should go finish sewing," he said hurriedly.

"Arastel, please. Stop doing this," the warrior half-begged, torn between wanting to comfort the elf and wanting to shake the truth out of him. He rose to follow the rogue, not intending to let him slip away onto the roof again.

"I have dealt with her before, _alone_," he said, stressing the word, "and I would do it again."

"Arastel-"

"This isn't your concern! It's _my_ problem, of my own making-"

"Arastel!"

"What?" The elf whirled on Gurok, long strands of his golden hair hanging wildly about his face. His chest heaved with rapid, heavy breaths as he waited for a response; his expression was muddled worry and loathing and _fear_, and that encouraged the orc to keep pushing closer.

"Who _is_ she? What did she _do_ to you?" he asked in a hushed tone, his dark amber eyes searching the rogue's face for some sort of answer.

The elf shrugged hopelessly. After a moment, he dropped himself into a chair, pulling his feet up onto the seat and slumping over so that he could wrap his arms around his knees. "I really, really, _really_ don't want to talk about it, Gurok," the rogue said quietly. His gaze turned upon the warrior, pleading. "Please, don't ask me."

Gurok studied the tiny, curled up elf for a few long moments. "Alright. I will not pester you about it any further. I only ask that you come to me if things get out of hand. Know that you can always do that. Come to me, I mean," he clarified. "I would… I would aid you in a heartbeat."

"I know that," Arastel sighed, looking even more pained. "I know. That's why I don't want to drag you into this, Gurok. You're too good for it."

The orc shook his head. "You fear that if you tell me, I will hate you," he said as he looked down into his hands. He ran a thumb over the heavy creased that crossed his palms- the lines of fate that the ancestors left upon each of them, his mother had always said. "But I know you, Arastel. Nothing of your past could erase the person that I know now. You laugh at the warrior trainers with me. You keep me company. You listen to me babble about Outland and the Kor'kron. You know how much I hate the smell of lavender," he said with a toothy grimace.

A laugh broke free of the elf, but he quickly stifled it with a sharp bite of his lip.

"I will not hold anything against you. You have my word," he swore, setting his heavy jaw as he waited for the elf's response.

"It's easy to think of those light moments _now_," Arastel said sadly. "But I have been made such promises before," he continued, his voice tight. "I have witnessed the very moment in which someone that loved me- that had promised to do so regardless- began to view me as a monster. I think… I think once is enough. For a lifetime."

There was a finality in the elf's tone that sealed it for Gurok. He bowed his head, accepting the rogue's decision, however much the lack of insight ate at him.

"Gurok."

Arastel's voice, barely audible over the crackle of the low flames in the hearth and the dry wind breezing past outside, made the orc glance up.

"I don't tell you because I- because of how much I need you. You're my friend. Possibly my only one," he said with a half-smile. He rose and slowly crossed the room to where the warrior sat. "Thank you for everything," he whispered, resting his hand on Gurok's shoulder.

The orc gave him a wan smile and sighed.

"Things will look better at dawn, won't they?" the elf asked as he slowly began cleaning up the table. He turned and arched a questioning brow at his companion.

Gurok nodded and stood to help, groaning and stretching out his back as he did. "I don't see how they could look any worse," he said honestly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews! :)  
I hope this is mostly typo free and without too many formatting problems... **

* * *

Gurok shouldered most of the burden on the short journey to the Earthshrine. They had packed extra clothing and armor, weapons and camping equipment, ample first aid supplies, and dried rations to supplement what they could draw from the land.

The warrior looked forward to their assignment, though its details still eluded them. It meant time away from this unpleasant business with Arcelia… and time _with_ Arastel.

Gurok's foot slipped in a patch of mud left behind by a troll mage's water elemental and cursed as his load teetered precariously on his shoulders. He groaned as he regained his balance, shifting to better carry the weight.

Arastel's nimble hands helped to push the packs of items back where they were supposed to be. After the orc had regained his balance, he picked up his own burden and they continued silently onward.

The Earthshrine was bustling with all manner of adventurer and explorer, the shimmering portals constantly in use. They found the one that displayed sandy stone walls carved with intricate symbols against a backdrop of brilliantly blue sky.

Gurok studied the portal- the tiny, rippling undulations and the gentle hum of arcane energy that grew to fill his ears the closer he got. He tried to match it to what he was feeling inside- a tingling that leapt about his chest and stomach like a spark gone awry. He took a deep breath and curled his toes within his boots.

"Uldum awaits," the elf said with a grand sweep of his arm. "Have you ever been?" he asked curiously.

"No." The orc let his gaze slide from the portal to Arastel. "But it can't be worse than Hellfire," he said with a lopsided grin, thinking of the red dust that had coated him from head to toe and eerie _wrongness_ of the place. The place that shown in this portal did not fill him with foreboding- it looked bright and airy, and he felt the electric sensation in the pit of his stomach double. It was hard to keep his grin from growing.

The rogue chuckled and shrugged. "A week from now, when you _still_ can't remove sand from places you didn't think sand could _go_," he said wryly, "we'll see where you stand."

He nodded his head in the direction of the portal, looking more pleased than Gurok had seen him in days. The orc lumbered through the shimmering gateway after him, anxious and excited for what lay beyond.

* * *

Bright, searing light was the first thing he noticed. It took his eyes several minutes to adjust to the sandy land's scorching sun, during which Arastel took responsibility for goading him to move. Gurok had barely stumbled off to the side before an impatient looking draenei paladin appeared through the portal, landing where the orc had dumbly stood just a second before.

The elf led him by the hand until they found a secluded, shady spot behind one of the tall obelisks that dotted the little city.

"It's like Orgrimmar without any of the _shade_," the warrior groaned, dolefully rubbing at his sore eyes. "And it's _drier_. How is that possible?" He was quickly reassessing his previous feelings about this place.

"Now you see why I brought this," Arastel said smartly as he unscrewed the cap from a little tin canister. Inside was a thick, cream colored paste that smelled of bloodthistle. "Come here," he ordered, beckoning the orc to stoop.

Gurok acquiesced, holding his breath as the rogue dabbed his thumb in the balm and then swept it across his lips, paying extra attention to the places where green skin had already begun to crack. Everywhere that the elf touched felt cool and slick, with slender fingers smoothing thin layers of the balm across his brow and down the length of his nose, then across his high cheekbones.

"There," Arastel murmured, settling back on his heels. "I've got some mixed with charcoal for around our eyes once we're out of here," he added. "Helps keep you from squinting all the time."

"You know this place well," the orc said, openly impressed.

"I was ill prepared the first time I came here," he explained with a rueful grin. "And I learned my lesson. It took _weeks_ for my skin to stop peeling. Now, you stay here and guard our things and I'll go find Maltuk."

"Maltuk?" Gurok asked as he set their things in a tidy pile against the wall.

"Betila's contact here in Uldum," the rogue explained. "Tall, four legs. Furry. Missing about half his face. He helps coordinate jobs down here. Originally most of them involved quietly putting down Orsis and Neferset, but as of late there are more requests to kill other Ramkahen." He shrugged and gathered up his blond locks to pin them in place. "Guess when all your enemies are dead, you can finally start picking off those allies you hate."

"Something like that."

Gurok and Arastel both turned abruptly in the direction of the growling voice, though the orc was obviously the more startled of the two.

"Maltuk," the rogue greeted, immediately stepping forward and bowing graciously before the grizzled tol'vir.

Gurok hesistated, still stunned as he took in his first sight of the tol'vir, who reminded him vaguely of the centaur that plagued the Barrens. But where the centaur had always seemed brutish and wild, the sleek, feline person before him looked _cunning_. After a moment he pulled himself together and gave Maltuk a salute, the motion coming to him out of habit.

"Save your pleasantries," the tol'vir grumbled, slinking forward from the shadows. The sunlight was harsh to him, highlighting the jagged scars that twisted what remained of the right half of his face. Gurok guessed he had narrowly missed having a cleave catch him directly under the chin. "You're late."

"Only barely," Arastel insisted, straightening up and crossing his arms.

"My time is precious," Maltuk said with a half sneer. He passed a sealed scroll to the elf. "And we both will have much to do when our meeting is done. Your destination is northwest of here. It's essential that you go immediately," the Tol'vir urged them. "That's all I can tell you," he added in a hiss before sulking away.

"Friendly fellow," the orc murmured as the last bit of the tol'vir's tail turned the corner.

"I suppose I'd be quite irascible if someone sliced off half my face, too," the elf said with a half-shrug. "But yes, that's Maltuk for you. Now, let's see what we have here," he muttered as he peeled open the scroll.

Gurok had begun carefully gathering up his load, wanting to be ready to travel as soon as Arastel gave the word. After a minute's silence, he turned his focus back to the elf… who was still studying the parchment, his brows knitted and his bottom lip dark from biting.

"Are we ready to go?" he ventured, rolling one of his shoulders to ease some discomfort.

"Yes, I suppose," the rogue replied slowly, his face still drawn as he rerolled the paper. "Need to head… northwest," he murmured, gesturing for the warrior to follow as he began navigating the narrow streets.

"You are troubled by what you read," Gurok noted as he trudged after Arastel. As they reached the edge of Ramkahen, the terrain changed abruptly, with worn stone giving way to sand that looked to stretch for miles.

The orc grunted at the resistance and kept his gaze trained on the trail of small indentations left in the shifting sand by Arastel; his own footfalls were far less delicate, leaving sunken holes wherever he stepped.

The elf seemed to notice this at the same time and quickly doubled back to cover the warrior's tracks. He began to follow at Gurok's heels instead, immediately returning the sand to its uniform appearance once he had passed.

"It's… odd. I have only ever been sent here to kill or retrieve information, and Betila said this would be more business with the Neferset," he explained. "This is more like _fetch_. I cannot fathom why Betila would send the both of us across Kalimdor just to pick up some musty old relic for her."

"You think it's a trap?" the orc asked, peering sideways toward the elf.

Arastel pursed his lips. "I… I don't _want_ to," he said miserably. "Why go through this much trouble? It'd have been much easier to hand me over to Arcelia in Orgrimmar. As far as I know, she doesn't even have any real ties in Uldum. I mean, a few, certainly, but nothing like the network she has in the north. It's just odd. Disconcerting."

"Perhaps it is nothing to worry about." And Gurok fervently wished it as he said the words.

"Perhaps," the rogue agreed. He withdrew his daggers and slid a sticky black-red fluid along the blades as they walked. "Let's just be prepared."

* * *

They trudged for another few hours until they reached the place designated in Betila's note, with Gurok summoning Swiftpaw just to get a break from shouldering the supplies. The wolf had panted desperately in the blazing heat, and it wasn't long before he dismissed her and carried on with hauling it himself.

The site was some sort of abandoned building of the tol'vir. Scorch marks had turned one of the remaining walls entirely black with char, and no real shelter remained. The pair approached cautiously, weapons drawn, and combed the area for any unwelcome visitors.

When no signs of others were found, Gurok tentatively began to explore the ruined building. His curiosity earned him a swift slap on the shoulder from the rogue, who was hanging on the wall and hissing rapidly about traps and buried explosives and a number of other potential dangers.

Gurok groaned and stepped back to allow Arastel to check the perimeter for tripwires and pressure plates, eventually resigning himself to sitting on a fallen chunk of stone until the elf was convinced of safety.

After scouring their surroundings for the better part of an hour, Arastel had finally conceded that it didn't appear to be a set up. "Just be _careful_, Gurok," he warned as he tucked his daggers away. "D-don't step there! Left, just to be certain."

"Arastel."

The elf winced as he took another step forward. "Hunch over a little for Light's sake! Razorwire is nearly impossible to see-"

"Arastel," the orc said with a sigh, plodding over until he stood next to the fidgeting rogue. "It's fine."

"Of course it's fine," he snapped, his fingers trembling as he smoothed back his bangs. "I know that _now_." Still, he edged gingerly around the heavy metal chest that Betila's note had instructed them to open. "Could be rigged," he muttered under his breath as he withdrew a set of fine, needle-like tools and began picking at the numerous locks sealing the chest shut. "Can you smell anything?"

"Smell anything?" Gurok asked.

The elf glanced up at him and flashed a small grin before resuming his work. "Come on, I know you've got an impressive sense of smell. Gunpowder? Acid? Anything like that?"

The orc stilled, taking in several slow, deep breaths through his nose. There was the scent of dry earth and sweat, distant smoke, and, of course, Arastel's bloodthistle and leather. There were tiny whiffs of strange scents that he did not yet recognize, but nothing resembling the bitterness of explosives or the acrid odor of poison.

He shook his head at the elf, and the rogue nodded gratefully. "Almost open," he announced as one of the last locks clicked open.

"I'll do it," Gurok said at once, automatically taking a step closer to Arastel. "I'll open it, just in case," he added immediately, his gut sinking lower and lower as his mind raced through images of the elf caught by poison or powder that he had failed to notice.

"Nonsense," Arastel said as he finished up with the last keyhole, his mouth set in a firm line. "I trust your judgment, Gurok. It'll be fine."

Before the warrior could protest, the rogue had pried the lid open and heaved it up until it fell behind the chest with a thud.

They both went still, waiting for disaster to strike, Gurok supposed. He let out a breath that filled the silence.

"Anticlimactic," the elf commented with a nervous laugh. He edged closer to peer inside the chest.

"What is it?"

"Some sort of glove?" Arastel straightened up, a piece of sleek piece of metal loosely held in hand.

"A glove?" Not one piece of metal, Gurok realized upon closer inspection, but dozens of little pieces of burnished truegold linked together to make a gauntlet as flexible as leather. He whistled lowly.

"What in Light's name," the elf swore under his breath. He held the object up higher to get a better look.

"Looks expensive," the orc commented.

"It looks like a bloody masterpiece," Arastel agreed. He slowly slid the contraption over his own glove then twisted and rolled his wrist, testing the movement.

Each finger ended in a delicately clawed tip; as the elf flexed his hand, Gurok was reminded of a gryphon's talons.

Arastel hummed under his breath as he played with the joints and little triggers hidden along the glove, each apparently designed to conceal a tiny amount of various poisons, until he tugged on a ring near the palm and a dagger suddenly protruded from a narrow slit near the back of his hand.

Gurok whistled again.

"That _is_ lovely," the rogue said as he admired the narrow blade. Another tug and the dagger swiftly retracted. "I might try and get one of these made for me after we get back," he told the orc with a grin. "Pretty nifty for gnomish engineering. Not entirely sure why she had us come down here to fetch it, but I can't say I'm not enjoying it," he added, smiling as he fiddled with the gauntlet some more.

"Betila told us to be prepared for weeks away from Orgrimmar," the orc said quietly, scratching his recently shaved face as he checked the sun- it was beginning to sink behind the mountains that ringed the sandy land. "This doesn't seem like a lengthy task."

Arastel shrugged, now more preoccupied with watching the dagger jut out and retract. "Who knows why goblins say what they say."

"Well, let's make camp. We can head back tomorrow," the orc suggested, already thinking of the rations in their packs. They wouldn't have to be as stringent with their stores as he'd been anticipating if the journey was to be so short. "I think near those cliffs over there would be good. Help to block the wind a bit."

The rogue nodded and stepped lightly after Gurok, already seeming lighthearted. "So, Gurok, how is the sand situation?" the elf asked wryly from behind him.

The orc dug a finger in his ear and grunted. "If I tilted my head to the side I think it would pour out."

"Oh, just wait until after the first night out here. It's like it migrates into your bedroll. And then it _multiplies_," he added in a mix of a laugh and a hiss.

"Perfect."

The rogue was still grinning as they reached the cliffs and put up camp. A small fire was lit with the dry, scrubby grass they could find nearby and the coals that the elf had brought; they allowed to burn low as they arranged their bedrolls for sleeping and tucked away weapons and armor for safekeeping. Once the coals were suitably hot, they warmed cuts of smoked meat on them and then tucked them between slabs of thick-crusted bread with cheese.

"This wasn't a bad visit at all," the elf stated as he bit vigorously into his sandwich. "Some tea would be nice, though. I completely forgot," he sighed, pursing his lips as he wiped the crumbs from his mouth.

Gurok smiled to himself and set down his meal to rummage in his pack. "I noticed as we left," he said as he withdrew a small cast iron teapot and a tin filled with the strong, earthy tea most popular in Orgrimmar. He tried to look nonchalant as Arastel beamed at him, keeping his gaze firmly trained on readying the drink.

"You're a thoughtful one," the rogue said softly, now nibbling on his crust. He reached out and trailed the pad of a finger across the raised dots and hatched lines that decorated the dark teapot.

The warrior was uncertain of how to respond to that, so he simply shrugged.

"I've never done this with someone else before," the elf added quickly, as if it explained his compliment. "Never had company. Which is a good thing, for most missions. I wouldn't want you around while I'm… doing bloodier things. But it's really nice to have you here. Now. I mean, you're good to have around all the time, but _especially_ now. I-I-I don't normally ramble," he apologized, grimacing and turning away from the low glow of the coals so that his face couldn't be seen.

"You sort of do. I don't mind, though," Gurok said honestly. "You can talk all you like. Especially if it's about enjoying my company," he said with a small smile.

The elf stuck his tongue in his cheek as he considered that. "I'm fortunate to have someone I can trust right now," he said after a moment. "I would be… a very mad, very dangerous mess right now if not for you."

"I wouldn't chalk that all up to me," the warrior said bashfully. "You have important people like Betila on your side, and a well paying job, and those are things that can ground you."

The elf nodded. "Yes, that certainly helps as well. This is easily my favourite mission so far, though, even if it's half the normal pay," he said with an easy grin. "No blood on my hands for sand to get stuck to, a nifty little retractable knife to play with, and you."

Gurok's stomach shifted uncomfortably, torn between elation at Arastel's fond words and his mention of the unsavory side of his job. "Yes… Betila mentioned that you hadn't been doing that. Killing. I'm sorry if helping me pulled you back into something you were trying to avoid," the orc said heavily. He leaned forward and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows with his thumb, as if it could smooth the furrow there.

"No, it's hardly your fault, Gurok," the elf said. He shrugged and looked away, toward Ramkahen, though it was no longer visible. "It's… a means to an end at this point. I think I knew that I wouldn't be able to avoid it forever, anyway."

"You seemed okay with it."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, I do like it in the sense that I'm _good_ at it. I mean, really good. You've never seen me at it, Gurok… but I'm really good at killing people."

"I sort of figured."

"Yeah. It's not really the sort of thing you can be proud of being good at, though, is it?" he asked, wringing his hands. "I'd rather sew than snap necks. I'd rather tan leather than sever spines. And I'd _much_ rather be around you than stalk someone whose jealous lover marked them for death."

"People really put in orders for that?" the orc asked, trying to imagine.

"Oh, yes. The shit that people will kill other people for, Gurok," the rogue sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's enough to make you think that big lizard's got the right of it. Not that I'm a Twilight Cultist," he warned, sticking up his hands defensively.

"I think I'd have noticed if you had any cultist robes in your laundry," Gurok said as he began pouring steaming tea into two small mugs.

Arastel gratefully took one of the roughly hewn clay cups into his hands and blew at the steam. "Go through my clothing often, do you?" he asked, his bright eyes filled with amusement as he stared at the orc over the brim of his cup.

"N-not since that time at your place," the warrior hurried to clarify. "I'm still sorry about tha-"

"Stop, stop, stop," the elf insisted, having a hard time containing his laughter. "I tease you. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," he assured him. "You can look through my underclothes anytime, if you're so interested."

Gurok choked on his drink, hot tea scorching his throat and bubbling out of his nose.

"Oh, Light, I'm so sorry," the rogue said as he clambered to the orc's side, his face tight with barely restrained laughter. "Are okay?" he asked urgently. "I'll stop. I'll stop," he promised, biting his lip until it turned pale.

"You have impeccable timing," the warrior wheezed, still rubbing at his throat. The burning there couldn't compare to the fire on his cheeks, though. "Next time I'll forget the teapot, too. Safer," he mumbled, allowing himself a short chuckle.

"I really am sorry," Arastel said gently. He dabbed lightly at a wet spot on the orc's shirt with a spare rag. "I'll wait until you're done drinking next time."

"Next time," Gurok said flatly.

The elf tried to hide a smile by ducking his head. "Alright, let's get to bed before I endanger you in some other manner," he said as he put out the coals.

* * *

With dawn, the searing heat made its return. The first rays made the orc screw his eyes shut and bury his face in his bedroll, but as the sky grew bright and the temperature rapidly rose, he found he could not hold on to sleep.

He sat up and threw his cover off, arching his back to stretch.

And then he spied Arastel perched atop his own rolled up sleeping mat, smiling broadly at the orc as he looked up from sharpening his knives. "Good morning."

"Morning," Gurok grunted. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his fist, half to wipe away the sleep and half to conceal his darkened cheeks. "Been awake long?"

"I can never sleep very long on missions," the elf sighed. "And I'm ready to get out of this felhole. I feel like all this sand has completely rubbed off the top layer of my skin," he added, rubbing at the exposed skin on his arms.

The warrior hummed thoughtfully and covertly sent the rogue glances as he tied up his own bedroll. Arastel hadn't bothered to put all of his armor back on, leaving his arms and shoulders bare. His mask hung loosely around his neck, Gurok supposed so he could pull it up to cover his nose and mouth in case of sand.

The orc sighed softly. After a moment he chanced a glance up and asked, "Aren't you worried about the sun burning you?"

"No," the elf groaned. "I've got balm everywhere. It's just too hot to wear all that," he complained. He gave the warrior a wry smile. "But I appreciate your concern. How about you?"

Gurok looked down at his green arms and shrugged. "It takes a lot to get through orc skin. I…" He trailed off as a sour smell reached him, not unlike meat left to sit in the sun.

"What?" Arastel asked, immediately on the alert. He slipped into the shadows behind the warrior and crouched, protectively guarding his back. "What is it?"

The orc's brow furrowed as he tried to place the strange stench. Erring on the side of caution, his hand began drifting toward one of his axes. "It's like… someone's rotten lunch, or perhaps some unfortunate animal's carcass- oh, wait. _Oh_. Undead," he said, throwing back his head and berating himself for not realizing it immediately. "This heat really does not agree with them, does it?"

"It's enough to make me miss Northrend," the rogue sighed softly. "Alright. I have your back, Gurok," he added, and for a moment the orc felt gloved fingertips trail feather-light down the back of his arm.

He held his axe to his side and slightly behind him, hoping to conceal it from their approaching visitor. He rolled his broad shoulders and exhaled as he waited, impatient to meet whatever threat was coming.

Within a minute a figure appeared on the crest of a large sand dune. A scrawny undead was working her way toward them, picking over the large, sandy boulders with an agility that belied her decaying form.

Gurok relaxed slightly- anyone so open about their arrival likely meant no harm. He heard the elf behind him straighten up as well.

She gave them a silent nod as she grew closer to their camp, wary enough to suggest that she had an inkling they might be paranoid about an attack. "Urgent missive from Betila," she rasped, hesitating near the perimeter of their camp.

Arastel slinked out of hiding, edging just forward of Gurok. "Let's see it," he said curtly, daggers still in hand as he gestured for her to come forward.

With a nod, she stepped forward and passed Arastel a sealed letter. With a half-hearted curtsey, she turned and left wordlessly, taking her stench with her.

The rogue waited until the courier had disappeared over the dune again before glancing toward the orc as he peeled at the wax seal.

"What could be so urgent?" Gurok asked as the elf tore open the thick parchment envelope. Sweat began to trickle from his brow, and he knew it wasn't all from the heat.

Arastel swallowed audibly as he read, the back and forth movement of his pupils growing more rapid by the second. By the end of the letter, his grip had tightened to the point that the delicate paper crumpled.

Gurok reached out and pried the letter from his hands to read for himself. The script was hurried and scratched, but he recognized Betila's handwriting.

_She's got people all over the city looking for you. Not safe to come back. Your mother's held prisoner. _

"It's Arcelia, isn't it?" the warrior spat. "She's hunting you," he murmured, his lips twisting around his tusks in a scowl.

The elf nodded, still staring blankly into the expanse of sand and sky. "Now is your last chance to run, Gurok," he said flatly. "Once they know you're with me, they'll pursue you as well."

"And leave you to survive out here alone? Never. I could never recover from such cowardice." He gave the elf an appraising look. "And I think you could use the help."

Arastel face was drawn with worry as he looked up at Gurok. "I… I can't ask you to do this."

"You're not," the orc shrugged. "I'm insisting."

"They might take me alive," the elf moaned, "but they'll _kill you_. They won't think twice about it."

"I'm not leaving," the warrior said resolutely. He planted his feet firmly and set his hand on the elf's shoulder. "I will stand with you."

Arastel shook his head and stepped away, a strangled sound escaping him as he collapsed on his bedroll. "My mother," the rogue groaned. "What will they have done with her? I should have… should I have just gone back?" he buried his face in his gloved hands and shuddered.

"Arastel," the warrior murmured. He hesitated, uncertain of how to comfort the elf- or if his words, presence, or touch were even wanted. He settled for crouching down beside him, just close enough to let his arm and shoulder brush the rogue.

"My life is, once again, a terrible mess, Gurok," Arastel sighed from behind his hands. "And now I've dragged you into it."

"Yes, now you have me," he agreed, smiling softly as the rogue peered out at him from between his fingers. "I don't mind. I mean, I do," he corrected quickly, a sharp frown settling on his lips, "because this is bad. But I… I don't care about being marooned out here with you. There's not much for me in Orgrimmar anyway," he shrugged.

"Not anymore, thanks to me," the elf muttered, screwing up his lips. "I couldn't have set this up better if I'd planned it," he said sadly.

"Arastel," the warrior said sternly, "it would seem there are enough people in Azeroth holding a grudge against you. Please don't contribute to the number by never forgiving yourself, and certainly don't act as though I resent you for anything. It… could not be further from the truth."

"You are a good friend," Arastel said softly. He pressed his lips together and stood up on wobbly legs. "You're absolutely sure you want this? I would _never_ blame you for walking away."

"My place is here," the orc confirmed. "I could not meet my ancestors with my head held high if I turned and fled when you needed help the most."

"I assume Betila's maneuvering has given us a bit of a lead, but to keep it we're going to need to move quickly."

Gurok took a deep breath. "So what is our course of action?"

Arastel's brow furrowed. "I need to reach my mother. I need to kill Arcelia, if that's what it takes, and get her out of whatever place they have her," he said flatly, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. "And then I'll poison every last one of them for good measure."

"So we just need a plan for the time between now and then," the orc said with a nod, pulling out the small token that bound Swiftpaw to him. It was a pity that Dawnfang, the elf's wiry brown pup, was still too young to be ridden.

"My cousin in Azshara," Arastel mumbled. "Andorel. He could get us to Silvermoon. Or the Undercity, and we could travel from there. That might be better… they usually keep a close eye on the mage portals in Silvermoon," he said a bitter frown.

"Could we not simply ask any mage to take us?" the orc questioned. He set to summoning Swiftpaw, who soon appeared in a billow of conjured smoke. She leapt upon him ferociously, slathering him with wet kisses before turning her attentions to Arastel. "Azshara is a long way…" Gurok added as he straightened and wiped the spit from his face.

Arastel shook his head and absently scratched the large wolf behind the ear. "I do not trust them. You don't- I can't blame you for not understanding," the elf sighed, "how _far_ her web stretches. Anyone could be on her payroll. In truth, I had already damned you weeks ago, just by associating with you. They had to be watching the whole time…"

The warrior grunted and nodded. He swung a leg over his wolf's back and nudged her closer to Arastel. "Do you think she'll go after Betila?"

"Probably," the rogue said, looking troubled. He reached up and grasped Gurok's forearm, pulling himself up onto Swiftpaw's back. "Which I feel terrible about… but Betila is sharp, and Orgrimmar is _her_ home turf, not Arcelia's. I think she will be quite capable of handling herself. As I understand it, there is no love lost between the Bilgewaters and Arcelia's ring."

The orc let a long sigh escape him as his thoughts turned to Tablah; he hoped that the troll would be spared any trouble for his ties to him and, by extension, Arastel.

"We need to get to Azshara, then," Gurok said simply as he urged his mount forward. They began to ride north as they decided on a path. "We cannot cut through Orgrimmar, but am I not anticipating traveling through Ashenvale," he murmured, thinking aloud. "Perhaps up the Southfury. But the Barrens are rife with battlefronts… a circuitous route, then? But it could take us a few weeks to reach Azshara, and yet more to find your mother," he frowned.

"There _is_ a flightmaster that I trust to confide in," the elf said slowly, his grip around the orc tightening. "We need to reach Camp Mojache, and she will certainly send us on our way in secrecy. No time for rest," he warned both the orc and the wolf. "And the terrain will be rough."

"Hardships we are not unused to," the warrior replied, running his fingers through the thick mane of fur on Swiftpaw's neck. He grinned as the wind whipped around them, grateful, even among all this upheaval and danger, for simple joys like riding with Arastel.

* * *

They had ridden hard until they reached the mountains that Uldum shared with Silithus. After an unpleasant journey down the crags, they were able to take a brief break for food and water before mounting for another push onward.

Swiftpaw's tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth as she panted, her long loping strides quickly carrying the pair through the shifting sands of Silithus. Thankfully, Gurok noticed, the silithid presence was nowhere near as strong as it had been when he had last been here.

They galloped past the Cenarion outpost and onward north, toward Feralas.

"We will need to stop soon!" the orc called out as sunset neared and his mount grew weary. The wolves of Durotar were known for their endurance, but this was pushing it.

"A bit further!" Arastel shouted back, his voice twisting in the wind. "There will be no point in riding a mount in Feralas- too overgrown and dense. We need to get as far as we can on her now." He patted the side of Swiftpaw's haunch apologetically. "We can make camp at the base of that mountain," he suggested, jerking his head in the direction of a looming peak.

For Gurok- and for the wolf as well, he suspected- camp could not come soon enough. Silithus' heat, while not as unforgiving as Uldum's, made the long journey severely uncomfortable, as did the swarms of gnats that plagued the sandy hills.

They finally slowed and found an area with some sparse shrubbery for cover. As soon as they dismounted, Swiftpaw sprawled out on the ground, her sides heaving as she panted. Large, golden brown eyes followed the orc and the elf as they poured water into a basin for her.

While she slaked her thirst, Arastel began arranging a fire and Gurok hastily prepared a thin soup using dried meat and peppers.

They ate in silence. Gurok could not be certain of the reasons for the elf's taciturn behavior, but he knew his own. Exhaustion. Hunger. And if he admitted it, the lingering worry that they had _not_ gotten a sufficient lead.

The warrior did not doubt in his decision- abandoning Arastel was not even in the realm of possibility- but he did decide that he had not quite thought it through. He hadn't anticipated what life on the run would be like or how it would affect them. Perhaps it _wouldn't_ forge a new camaraderie between them; maybe this hardship would only drive a wedge through whatever it was they had been tentatively forming.

And then he sneered at himself for even allowing such a thought to factor in, to be preoccupied with something so comparatively minor when their futures were in jeopardy. He let his heavy lids fall over eyes that ached and burned from the sun, sand, and wind. When he opened them again, they stung bitterly and tears welled up in the corners.

Arastel didn't look to be in the mood for any conversation, if his deeply furrowed brow and faraway look and the mindless chewing of his thumbnail were any indication.

With a grunt, Gurok turned and dug himself into his bedroll, his wolf curled at his back. As heavy as his limbs felt now, he knew that by tomorrow night they would ache twice as fiercely. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and bid the elf goodnight.

"Wake me at midnight and I'll keep watch," he murmured as he shut his eyes against the faint flickering of the stars and the movement of too-dark shadows that made his heart jump into his throat.

* * *

They would have to bid Swiftpaw a temporary farewell when they began their trek through the mountains that separated Silithus from Feralas. Gurok whispered praise to his wolf and scratched the underside of her throat, attempting to distract his simmering anger at the elf.

"You should have woken me," he said again, giving Arastel a pointed look.

"Water under the bridge now, Gurok," the rogue said disinterestedly. He was popping coffee beans into his mouth and wincing the barest bit as he crunched down on them. "You deserved the rest more, anyway."

The orc clenched his jaw and gave Swiftpaw his final goodbye, pressing his forehead to hers and exhaling deeply. She was gone in a sudden swirl of grey smoke, spirited back to the stables where she could be better cared for.

He stiffened as Arastel stepped past him and continued briskly toward the narrow pass through the towering peaks. With an annoyed grunt, he stooped and gathered the rest of their supplies and jogged after.

"Arastel," he said as he caught up, hoping to stop the rogue for a moment. It was better that they hashed this out now rather than later; their lives could end up depending on it.

The elf didn't so much as turn to acknowledge him. His nimble little feet never slowed, though his shoulders did raise and stiffen.

"Arastel," the warrior growled, reaching out and catching the strap on his pack. He pulled the elf up short, forcing him to stop. "_Stop_."

"We don't have _time_ to stop," the rogue said harshly, whirling and batting the orc's hand away. "Believe me, as much as I'd love to have a lovely little tea time and plod along like some addled night elves out enjoying the beauty of nature, we literally do not have time. None. And if you can't handle this sort of schedule then you should have thought about that before you agreed to come and you can leave right now," he said in a rush. "If you'd just _listened_ to me-"

"No," Gurok cut in, his patience worn thin, "you need to stop letting whatever doubts you have up there," he muttered, pointing at the elf's temple, "overrule everything I tell you. I will _not_ leave you. I have promised you this. Do I need to write it out with the corpses of ogres? Chisel it into side of a mountain with my bare tusks? What will it take to convince you?" he implored.

Arastel had the decency to look abashed, reddening as he gnawed his lip. He crossed his arms and nodded, though his gaze remained on the warrior's boots. "I… I'm sorry."

Gurok gave him a wan smile. "I have chosen to stay. I want to help you, do not doubt that. My only quarrel with you is that you still treat me as though you have somehow… twisted my arm into remaining here," he said, exasperated. He began to walk toward the path to Feralas, knowing that their time was indeed short. "You did no such thing. And you treating me like this- like a ward of yours rather than a friend and ally- is only going to give us both grief."

"All this over allowing you to sleep through the night? I thought I was doing you a favor," the elf said disappointedly.

Gurok sighed. "I do appreciate the thought. However, I do not like that it came at your expense. You need rest as well," he said with concern, "if we are to stand any chance in a confrontation. And we can split the hardships of life out here so they don't weigh too heavily on one of us," he added. "But not if you continue to insist on taking them all yourself."

Arastel studied the crumbling ground as they walked, his ears drooped and his mouth tight. "I do not want anything to happen to you, Gurok."

The orc's throat grew dry and his voice came out hoarse at first. "And I want you to be safe. I joined you to better our chances, not to have you worry for me."

Now was not the time for affection. What could come of it here, now? And certainly the last thing Arastel would be comforted by was his calloused hand. But still…

He let his hand rest briefly against the elf's back and kept it there just long enough to feel one breath.

Then he drew back, his neck and face burning at his audacity. He stared ahead for some time, but eventually the path began to grow rockier and narrower and more crooked, and it was necessary for them to proceed in single file.

And just before he fell into place behind the rogue, Gurok caught a glimpse of his face.

Grinning _lasviciously_.

* * *

By the time they were almost to the forest proper, both had gained a number of nicks and bruises. The mountain path had been rough going, with the rocky slopes prone to giving way under their feet as loose stones tumbled down the steep incline.

Gurok cursed his large, ungraceful feet as he stepped on a loose piece of shale and descended the last twenty feet of the mountain trail by tumbling head over heels. He laid on his back at the bottom as falling rubble continued to pelt him, his eyes screwed shut against dust and pebbles.

He groaned as something large crashed into him, forcing the air from his chest. He gasped in dust-laden air and coughed.

"So sorry," Arastel murmured from on top of him.

The warrior let one eye creak open and found the elf in no hurry to clamber off of him. His hair had come loose from its tie and was streaked with dirt, as was his face, though his freckles still showed through, and immediately Gurok felt his body stir in ways he did not want it to be stirring right now.

"Need to keep moving, don't we?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound unusually high pitched or tight.

The rogue's grin slowly turned to a frown and he reluctantly stood and offered to help the orc up. "Unfortunately, yes." The words seemed as heavy as the sizeable rocks piled against Gurok's chest.

His hands lingered on the orc as he dusted him off and straightened the bits of armor that had been put askew in the fall, the tiniest hint of his former grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Gurok looked everywhere around them to avoid the elf's playful gaze; he found it also helped to turn his mind to thoughts of the undead, gnomes, and the detailed depiction of the Stonemother that he'd seen in one of Arastel's newer books.

"It's hard to see the sun here," he noted. It had mostly been an attempt to distract the rogue, but as he looked up into the dense foliage, the difficulty that that posed sunk in. "What time is it?"

"After noon. Perhaps… two or three bellows?" Arastel guessed, finally getting serious. He flipped open a compass and pursed his lips. "I don't think we can make it to Camp Mojache tonight, as tempting as it would be to try…"

"Where should we make camp?"

"Let's see how far we can get," the elf said with a tentative show of optimism. He re-buckled his pack and began stalking through the dense forest, picking his way through the overgrown vegetation.

They skirted past a few ogre dwellings and avoided the wildlife for the most part; it was, in the end, the plants that gave them the most trouble. As they trekked deeper into the heart of Feralas, the forest became harder and harder to navigate.

While Arastel could nimbly duck under vines and branches and jump over thick undergrowth, Gurok could only trample through it, leaving a trail as clear as day to follow.

"I was not built for stealth," the warrior growled after the elf once again bade him to try to proceed with an ounce of grace.

"There are orc rogues," Arastel countered.

"I wasn't _trained_ for it, either," Gurok said defensively. He snarled as a young sapling's branch slapped him hard across the cheek. "Well, I think I found the Horde's next source of lumber…" he muttered, glaring angrily at the abundant forest around them.

The rogue tittered and deftly leapt over the fallen trunk of a massive tree. "I think we should make camp here. I can't tell how much daylight we have left," he said as he scanned the canopy, "but we should use whatever's left to hunt and find water."

"Agreed," Gurok said quietly, his own calculations of their remaining supplies informing him that it was time to restock.

They found a place that was suitably concealed, with a short cliff at their back and a dense copse of trees on one side, and then set down their supplies and covered them with dead leaves and fern fronds.

"Do you want to look for a stream while I catch us food?" the orc asked as he strung his bow.

"Why not set up the traps and then go search for water together? I think it best we stay close," the elf suggested instead.

"The traps?" Gurok questioned, looking doubtful. "I'd like to have some fresh meat _tonight_. Who knows if you'll even catch anything like that."

"Who knows if you'll even catch anything like _that_," Arastel scoffed, gesturing to the warrior's bow. "You think we should waste hours hunting when we could set some snares _and_ have time to find water and set up camp?" He put his hands on his hips and gave the orc a superior look.

"I would sooner trust our welfare to my skill with a bow than your luck with a trap," Gurok said evenly. He knocked an arrow and took aim at a colorful, long-feathered bird that had settled on a branch twenty yards from their camp.

Before the rogue could open his mouth, he let the arrow fly. There was a muffled sound of fluttering and a gentle thud as it hit the ground.

The warrior gave Arastel an expectant look, his heart actually fluttering. He knew he was a good shot, but that had been more of a display than he could have hoped for.

"Okay, that's impressive," the elf said with his arms crossed, screwing his mouth to the side in an effort not to smile. "Good job. I'm sure that parrot will last us for many meals," he grinned. "But I can hunt, too."

"Snares don't count," the orc laughed as he retreated into the woods, determined to find a deer or something else suitably large to serve them for provisions.

"Yes, they do," Arastel called after him. "And I'll prove it!" he added, shaking a length of rope at the warrior as he bounded off into a different section of the forest to lay his traps.

* * *

At first, the rogue had refused to partake in the roasted venison, but eventually the smell made his stomach rumble continuously and he stuck his tongue out at the orc before biting into a haunch of meat.

"You're coming with me to check my snares tomorrow morning before we break camp," he told Gurok as he mopped up the juices running down his chin. "You'll see."

Gurok nodded and smiled to himself, internally thanking the Ancestors for allowing such a prize piece of game to show itself to him. It felt good to finally have something to demonstrate his skill to the elf. He felt as though he'd proven his usefulness, and as he packed away strips of cooked meat for the rest of their journey, he let himself sigh contentedly.

Perhaps it was the filling food, or the fact that they'd been able to properly wash themselves for the first time since leaving Orgrimmar, or maybe just the lack of sand rubbing him raw everywhere, but for the first time in days of doubt and worry, Gurok was feeling hopeful.

And it seemed that the feeling was shared.

Arastel smiled easily, as he had up until this business with Arcelia had reared its ugly head. He told jokes, and laughed at the few that Gurok knew, although the orc was certain they were not new to him, and he let his shoulders loosen and his hands unclench and eyes light up.

Gurok took the first shift of watch this time, although he doubted that the elf would have neglected to wake him this night. Arastel went drowsy at the warmth of the low fire and was sleeping soundly within minutes.

The orc idly poked at the embers and watched the flickering light play across the rogue's face for a few minutes before he turned away from the flame to keep watch. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, which somehow felt less frightening than that in Silithus.

And unlike in Silithus, here there were the calls of the various nocturnal creatures to keep him company and to reassure him that nothing was amiss. He listened to the chorus of songs and hoots and echoing shrieks as he observed their surroundings, and when the time came for Arastel to take guard, he listened as the now familiar noises lulled him to sleep.

The morning light was tempered by the canopy, the very first rays gently rousing the orc- as opposed to the blinding wakeup call in Uldum. He quickly stretched and rolled out of his bedroll to find Arastel oiling his boots next to the remains of the fire.

"Check your snares yet?" he asked with a yawn that he halfheartedly hid behind his hand.

"I was waiting for you," the elf smirked. "Thought you could use a lesson in what a _real_ catch looks like," he teased. "Let's go."

"Guess it doesn't matter if we hide our things," the orc said as he stood, glancing around at their packs and bedrolls and their used dishes. The smoldering firepit would be a giveaway, as would the discarded bones and crushed grass.

"We'll be back soon anyway," the rogue said with a shrug. "We can stop by the stream and top off our waterskins, too. Oh, and bring your axes. Just in case I caught anything big," he cautioned.

Gurok's lip curled up. "I wouldn't get overly worried-"

"Oh, shut up," Arastel said at once, leading the way through the woods.

"Watch it be an ogre," the warrior chuckled under his breath as they distanced themselves from camp.

"I'm half tempted to lead you right over one," he heard the elf snort. "Let's see you use that bow and arrow to free yourself from a triple-knotted Murder Row slingback," he whispered.

"You don't _really_ call it that, do you?"

Arastel hushed him and crept around the base of a thick tree trunk, his daggers held before him.

And then he sighed.

Gurok rounded the tree and found the rogue staring dejectedly at the scrawny hare dangling from his trap. "Good thing I brought my axes, huh?" He grinned as the elf grumbled under his breath.

"No sense in keeping it," the elf shrugged as he began untying the rope. "It wouldn't weigh three pounds if it was sopping wet."

The orc had to agree. It was a measly little thing, not even worth killing. He stepped to the side as Arastel set it on the ground and let the nervous creature bound away into the undergrowth. "We can check the others," he offered. "Perhaps something more substantial wandered into them."

The elf nodded, and they traveled in a large semi-circular path to check the series of traps he had laid out the night before. Most were untouched, and the few that had been triggered held no prey.

Gurok sighed and gave Arastel a grim smile. "Fortune does not smile upon every hunt," he said in consolation, his teasing expression fading.

The rogue clucked his tongue and nodded. "Before we get to Silvermoon," he said seriously, "I _am_ going to show you how effective these are. Er, can be. With proper luck."

"I look forward to it," the warrior said as they headed to the stream. They filled up their waterskins one last time before they would gather their things and head to Camp Mojache.

"I don't know much about hunting with snares," the orc admitted as they returned to camp at a more languid pace. "Perhaps… you could show me."

The elf gave him an appraising look out of the corner of his eye. And then he smiled. "Alright," he said pleasantly. "In exchange, I want you to teach _me_ something."

"Oh? Like what?" Gurok asked with a surprised chuckle.

"Your carpentry. I want to build a big table for when I'm working leather," he explained, gesturing extravagantly. "I was hoping you could show me. Maybe we could work on it together."

"I would like that," the warrior mumbled, already rubbing his broad chin as he thought of how best to carry out the project. Another chance to show Arastel what he could do. It made him feel a hundred pounds lighter. Maybe this was what levitating priests felt like?

Arastel outlined his plans for the worktable, pausing every so often to let the orc interject with a few practical concerns or additions. The warrior found himself suddenly wishing that his home had been spared too much trouble from Arcelia's grunts- the few carpentry tools that he had would not be cheaply replaced.

As they approached the camp, Gurok caught wind of something in the air. It smelled _off_. As a base sense of danger set in, he froze, very much aware that this same sort of reaction had occurred in the deer he'd killed the night before.

He held out his arm to stop the elf beside him, then turned and gave Arastel a concerned look.

"What is it?" the rogue whispered right at his ear, looking equally alert.

"It's… suspicious," he said uneasily. "There's no out of place scent, but it's as if… earth has been churned, plants have been trampled. It smells _too_ strongly of nature to be natural," he said in a hushed voice. His brow furrowed and he hoped that he was making sense.

"Quietly, then. Let me lead," Arastel whispered as he withdrew his daggers. He slid into the dark undergrowth, blending uncannily with the shadows.

Gurok let him get ten paces ahead before he followed, careful to set his large feet where they would not make much noise. He was suddenly conscious of how loud his breathing was, how heavy his footfalls were. He grit his teeth as he realized there was little he could do about it.

Camp was in sight now. And it was empty.

The orc let his shoulders sag slightly, berating himself for causing such unnecessary fuss over a slight change in smell. He had never been to Feralas before- for all he knew, it was typical of the place. But he had jumped to conclusions and worried Arastel for no reason at all.

He crouched closer to the elf, prepared to apologize, when a slender hand rose in a gesture that ordered silence. The orc pressed his lips together and waited, listening to the distant noises of insects and birds.

Suddenly, he saw something move at the campsite, sending his heart into a flurry of beating. When he tried to focus on it, it melded back. Amber eyes scanned the bedrolls and surrounding area but found nothing amiss.

And then he saw it- a tall, sleek form that had been camouflaged against the backdrop of dense foliage and tree trunks. As it moved, he realized it was a troll, its long, lanky limbs impeccably painted to blend with the environment. At his heels came a panther, as sinuous and shifty as its master.

Faintly, Gurok caught the sound of a voice.

"-no point in staying, is there?" It was a female tauren, now approaching the camp from the opposite direction of where Gurok and Arastel were hidden. "They'd have returned by now. Likely they left this as a decoy… clever."

The troll turned and faced the dark-furred tauren, who was soon joined by three smaller figures- a goblin and two elves, it looked like. Gurok couldn't see clearly from this distance, but he imagined the troll must be glaring furiously to make the three new arrivals cower like that.

"Ya spoil de hunt," was all the blue-skinned troll said, patting his panther on the head as he walked straight past the tauren.

She snorted audibly at his dismissal, crossing her arms at his retreating form. "Take it all," she barked at the three under her command.

As they set to collecting the bags and bedrolls, Arastel's eyes found Gurok's. "This isn't good," he hissed.

"Really?" the warrior asked with exaggerated surprise. "I can tell _that_ much. Those are all of our supplies," he muttered angrily. "We've weeks more to travel and nothing left to sustain us," he hissed, thinking of the parceled venison that he had stowed away in those packs.

"Not that!" the elf said urgently. "That's Arcelia's right hand man, Hatoof. He's a damn good hunter," he said bitterly. "He'll be tracking us all the way to Andorel's doorstep."

That got Gurok's attention. He swallowed thickly. "Who's the tauren?"

"I don't recognize her," Arastel shrugged uneasily. "She must have joined up after I left."

After the intruders had cleared out, Gurok felt a tug on his elbow. "We need to get moving. Eventually he's going to notice there's no trail leading out of here, and he'll be back to look for where we're hiding," he said in hushed tones, nervousness beginning to creep into his voice and movements.

"Which way is northeast?" the warrior asked, fruitlessly looking up to the canopy for some sign of the sun's position.

Arastel chewed his thumb anxiously. "I don't know if it's an option anymore," he said slowly. "Camp Mojache. Not with them here. You can bet they're keeping an eye on it," he said, letting his eyes flutter closed as he massaged his temples. "I don't know…"

"Well, let's just try and put some distance between us now," Gurok suggested, forcing the elf to stand with him. "We'll head north and decide where to go from there. What's important is getting away from here."

Arastel nodded emphatically. "Yes. Yes, let's go," he said quietly, glancing at the compass one last time and then forging a new path through the thick grasses and vines.

They traveled northwest in a winding, weaving line, with the mindful rogue occasionally darting out of his way to break branches and suggest they had gone in a different direction. Their pace was brisk, and in time it brought an ache to the warrior's side, but it was maintainable. They would never have been able to keep up like this with all of their belongings, he thought.

Gurok's attempts to follow the light-footed rogue's path with the same silence were far from successful. He winced each time he heard a twig break or leaves crunch underfoot, doubtless that if they were to be caught, it would be because of his kodo-like tromping. He stifled a growl as a prickly plant caught his across his side, focusing instead on the bounding elf in front of him and the path before him.

He swatted away a wisp as they slipped past a night elf graveyard; their eerie little faces had always put him off. He struggled to keep to Arastel's trail as faithfully as he could, hurtling fallen trees and slipping sideways between mossy trunks when the rogue did.

Things passed in a blur of dank green vines dripping with moisture and mossy trunks, with the expanse of green on being broken up by the occasional glimpse of crumbling night elf ruins-turned-ogre-dwellings.

Gurok saw the flash of light glinting from the knife moments before it hit. Reflexively, he threw up an arm, grunting as the blade buried itself deep in the exposed flesh between his bracer and pauldron.

He ducked low into the undergrowth, seeking some cover as he pulled out his axes, though he doubted he could use them very effectively in this close, constricted space.

Apparently Arastel had seen the glimmer of the thrown knife at the same time, because he was already in action, furiously slinging small daggers at the slim elven form that darted off through the trees. Thick vines and branches impeded his attack, and it was quickly apparent that their assaulter had gotten away.

"A scout. We need to run," the elf said at once, securing what few possessions they still had to his person and tearing through the dank foliage, all pretense of stealth gone. He turned back abruptly and yanked the blade from the orc's arm, causing the wound to gush with dark blood. He jammed the knife into the holster on his thigh and beckoned for the orc to follow quickly.

The warrior charged after him, one hand held over the deep stab to stem the flow of blood. The wound stung painfully, and more than that, it felt as though something within his skin was _writhing_. The orc could only wonder at what sort of poison had coated it.

They crashed through the forest in the manner that Gurok imagined the great beasts of Un'Goro did; deer and birds scattered before them, screeching cries of alarm as they hurtled past. Twice the orc stumbled over gnarly roots, and many more times he got caught on the thick, slippery vines that dangled from the canopy. The terrain was unforgiving of hesitation, and he prayed to the Ancestors that it proved as vexing to their pursuers.

He kept his eyes on Arastel's small form as they leapt across brooks and clambered up hills, tracking his abrupt changes in direction. Even with all the turns, Gurok noted that they were steadily making progress north now, toward Desolace.

But they couldn't make it there, not like this. The warrior's chest ached worse than the time a falling infernal had plowed into him; his breaths never came quite deep enough, and the steady loss of blood from his arm did not help whatsoever. He noticed that even Arastel was stumbling now, his movements less precise and his pace irregular. Rogues were built for sprinting and sneaking and crawling, not endurance runs rife with obstacles.

A sharp noise caused the orc to instinctively duck his head- such reflexes had been honed by years of attacks in both Outland and Azeroth. There was the distinctive thunk of an arrow as it landed in the trunk of a tree just ahead of him.

The whistle of another prompted Gurok to double his speed and attempt a more serpentine route, his legs nearly spasming at the impossible task he asked of them. He quickly came up on the heels of the flagging elf, who was gasping for air nearly as hard as the warrior was.

Though fleetfooted and light, Arastel's stride was shorter and his energy had all been expended during his frantic dash. Without a second thought, Gurok grit his teeth and grabbed the elf about the middle, hoisting him up off of the ground and cradling him protectively against his chest.

He heard another arrow, and perhaps more followed, but he had stopped listening. Every ounce of effort went into propelling himself forward, to putting one foot in front of the other in a desperate attempt to flee. He had built up a great deal of stamina in his work, and though he was not as strong as he was in years past, he knew he had more to give.

Each stride burned more than the last. His muscles cried out in agony, unused to being pushed this hard without warning. He didn't know how long he had been running or whether he was headed in the right direction-_ if_ there was even a right direction. There was no safe destination, no sanctuary that awaited them.

Still, he ran on, desperate to keep Arastel from the hands of his would-be captors. He bid his body to hold out for a few more minutes, and then it was seconds, and then it was moment to moment, each breath feeling like a fight.

He suddenly burst free of the forest, the treeline giving way to a wide, open clearing that housed a small lake, in the middle of which was a tiny island topped with crumbling ruins.

Dark, still water and elegant kaldorei architecture covered by vines and moss- the serenity of it jarred the orc. He stumbled, disoriented, in the back of his mind knowing that this was _even worse_. There were no trees were left to give them cover or stall their pursuers, who grew closer by the second.

With a feeble grunt, he shambled forward and collapsed in the water, his limbs shaking and quivering. Arastel was unconscious in his arms, his mouth slack and his body limp. Gurok hoped it was from exhaustion rather than a nick from a poisoned arrow.

He curled in around the elf's body protectively, letting his head fall forward against Arastel's, feeling their noses and foreheads touch. His breaths were more like desperate gulps of air, and though he wanted nothing more than to linger like this, or to at least have a moment's rest, reason urged him on.

With a groan, the orc winced and pushed himself forward, further into the water, with the elf tucked against his chest. The shallows would only mean death for him and capture for Arastel.

He floundered in the depths, barely able to keep his head above the splashing water, much less the rogue's as well. It was only moments later that he saw Hatoof and the tauren and the others break out of the forest as well. To his satisfaction, they looked haggard as well- though certainly in better condition than he and Arastel.

The hunter grabbed an arrow from his quiver and took aim. Gurok immediately gulped in a breath and dove under, pulling the elf down with him. He pinched the elf's nose and covered his mouth, hoping to keep him from inhaling water. He felt a pang of worry when Arastel never struggled at the loss of air.

The orc kicked out frantically, exerting everything he had left to escape the arrows plunking into the water. He surged blindly toward the bank of the small island; though he knew it did not mean safety, it was the only place to go.

Behind him he heard the muffled splashes of Hatoof's people diving in after them. Panic gripped Gurok, and he clawed and twisted and pushed until he felt mud under the fingertips of his free hand. He crawled halfway up the muddy bank, fighting for purchase on the land until he reached a place where he could lay Arastel down.

He wasn't breathing- not that Gurok could see, at least. The orc finally collapsed right beside him, one arm covering the elf's form, still waist-deep in the lake's chilly water. His exhausted mind could form no other course of action, and his body certainly couldn't carry out another escape.

When they came, he would just keep them away as long as he could.

He snarled as he watched the three swimmers approach, hoping to at least kill one before they finished him off. He wasn't sure where his axes were, but he didn't need them- if he could muster the strength, one well-placed punch could cave the ribcage of an elf or smash the goblin's skull.

The water grew searing cold in the span of a heartbeat. The orc shuddered at the sudden chill and lurched away, weakly hauling himself from the rapidly freezing lake. He grabbed the front of Arastel's vest and pulled him free of the water as well, clutching him close as he recoiled from the rapidly forming ice.

It crossed half the lake within a few seconds, tendrils of white-blue ice snaking along with a life of their own. It formed a sheet across the surface and then rapidly thickened, nearly turning opaque- but not opaque enough for Gurok to miss the grim sight of Hatoof's people clawing frantically at the underside of the solid layer of ice. He sat and stared dumbly at the scene, still bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

He scanned the treeline and noticed the troll and the tauren had vanished, and when his gaze returned to the lake, three sets of lifeless eyes were boring into him.

The orc tried to shake away the image of the three trapped corpses. _Something_ had caused this sudden frost, and he worried for their fate should it find them. He feebly tugged the elf up closer to him.

Arastel's chest was still. The warrior cupped his face, panic welling up in him at how cold the elf felt. He turned the rogue's head to the side and pumped his hands against his chest, careful of breaking the smaller man's much finer bones. He felt cold sweat bead on his brow as the rogue gave no sign of life, not even a cough or convulsion.

"Osa a rini tur?" a voice asked from his side, nearly making the orc leap from his skin.

Gurok drew back from the night elf hovering above him, nearly feeling too exhausted to make sense of this new appearance. The tall elf had the look of a druid, with mossy green hair hidden under a leather hood. Golden eyes looked concernedly from the orc to the rogue in turns.

The night elf gestured to Arastel again. "T'as'e, nor su," he said softly, though a hint of urgency laced his tone. The fatigued orc hesitantly took it as an offer to help; whether it was genuine, whether it was wise to accept, he was not certain.

Gurok looked back to the unconscious elf and noticed his lips were startlingly pale. All of him was pale. He clenched his jaw and grabbed the night elf's arm, roughly pulling him closer to Arastel. He didn't know enough Common to demand healing.

But the young druid required no further prompting from the orc. He immediately swept his hands through the air, a faint green hue surrounding them as he drew from the surrounding nature, and then pressed his palms to the rogue's chest.

The night elf murmured softly as he coaxed life back into the rogue, single-minded in his healing. Gurok watched on attentively, grateful for the aid but also wary of the motives of this stranger. And then there was the ice…

Arastel suddenly sputtered and hacked, his whole body twisting with the force of his tremor. Water dribbled from his mouth and nose and he took in heaving, gasping breaths.

"Arastel," the warrior cried in relief, gently lifting the elf and cradling his head in his lap. He smoothed out the cold, damp locks that were clinging to Arastel's skin. He still felt chilled to the bone. "It's alright," he said softly, running his hand across the shaking rogue's brow.

"W-what," the elf managed to murmur through chattering teeth, his gaze shifting all around them. His eyes grew wide as he caught sight of the druid.

"You're safe," Gurok said comfortingly. "Just rest."

Arastel nodded weakly and let his eyes flutter shut, curling in tight on himself and nuzzling closer to Gurok.

"Aman rin," the druid asked cautiously, waving in the orc's field of vision. He pointed at Gurok, his mouth set in a grim line. "T'as'e."

The warrior stiffened. He ached everywhere, true, and blood still sluggishly dripped from his arm, but it was not so bad that he felt desperate to let this strange druid- this _Alliance_ druid- near himself and the vulnerable rogue any longer than necessary.

"Nirsau a'mal tul," the night elf said more pressingly. Without waiting, he leaned forward and reached behind the orc's back.

Before Gurok could turn or block him, he felt a sharp pain course through his shoulder and up through his neck. He swayed at the sudden agony, realizing for the first time that he had taken at least a few arrows in the back.

With a pained groan, he nodded to the druid, his face dark with shame at this level of exposure and weakness.

One by one, the druid pulled the shafts from his back. Two had been lodged in his shoulders, while another had pierced his right thigh straight through and then snapped, leaving much of the arrow buried within his flesh. A small dagger also had to be fished from his back, the blade having been buried dangerously close to his spine.

The orc struggled to be still as the night elf slowly patched each wound- simply sitting up felt like torment now, with the adrenaline wearing off. The druid came to the two knife wounds last, his golden eyes scrutinizing each one.

He muttered something in Darnassian, a deep frown settling across his lips as he noted the graying of the flesh around the wounds. He called something out louder now, and for a moment Gurok flinched and half-expected the troll and the tauren to saunter out.

But instead it was a dark plated figure, all frost and death and decay, and the orc suddenly realized how the lake had frozen.

The death knight's approach was heralded by a chill in the air that made Gurok's spine tingle. As the druid murmured and gestured to the two knife wounds, the undead elf leaned in closer to examine them. The orc felt the hairs on his body prickle and rise in response.

"I… I-I have an antidote… for that," Arastel panted quietly from beside him.

All three looked down at him, though the druid did so with confusion.

Arastel murmured something else in what sounded like Common, and the night elf suddenly made a sound of comprehension and stooped at his side.

"I saw… the coating on the blade," the rogue explained, groaning as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Necrotizing poison." He gestured weakly to one of the many pouches strapped to his hip, nodding as the druid carefully removed a green-glassed bottle filled with pearly liquid.

The night elf applied the antidote to each wound with gentle dabs, then opened his mouth and gave Gurok an expectant look.

The warrior turned to Arastel in alarm.

The rogue chuckled and managed a raspy, "Open your mouth."

"Oh," Gurok said under his breath. He mimicked the night elf and opened wide, allowing the druid to squeeze a few drops of the sickly sweet antidote onto his tongue. "Is that all? Is everything done?" he asked.

"You probably won't die," the death knight answered, making the pair jump. His voice sounded like death itself come for them, a harsh echo that made the orc imagine bone scraping bone and frost that blackened flesh.

"Reassuring," Arastel croaked, a tired smile on his lips. He muttered something else in Common to the night elf, who laughed politely.

"Thank you," the orc said quietly, bowing his head at the druid. Alliance or not, he had saved Arastel and likely himself as well. In the recesses of his mind, he knew he had heard enough Common to know the words for basic utterances like 'please' and 'thank you', but at the moment they escaped him.

The druid seemed to understand his intent, however, and smiled in return before resuming conversation and healing with Arastel.

"And thank you," Gurok added, turning to the death knight, as they were now left to each other's company. "Your friend's healing saved us… but we would not have been alive long enough for it if not for your ice."

The death knight grinned widely at that, his dry face almost looking as though it could crack. His parted lips revealed black-rimmed teeth and gums as dead-grey as the rest of him. "You are welcome. He has never let me do such a thing before," he said with a hint of excitement, his icy blue eyes turning to the still frozen water.

Gurok suddenly got the impression that the death knight might be a little unhinged. Perhaps no more than _other_ risen-dead, but still. His gaze followed the night elf's to the bodies pressed against the underside of the ice.

He felt an uncomfortable sensation settle in his stomach and turned away.

"You are like them," the death knight said with a hint of disappointment, easing back into the orc's line of sight. "Disgusted."

"I have been away from the field too long," Gurok said with a heavy sigh. "There was a time when I was hardened to such things. I seem to have lost my nerve," he said with a thick swallow. But he questioned his words even as he said them. Had he ever been hardened to death? The first time he had killed in rage, without the reverence for life and its loss his mother had always impressed upon him, he had taken to his cot and wept as he contemplated what that made him. A monster?

Still, though his rumination had earned him mockery and scorn from many of Thrallmar's other guards, it had also brought him an enduring friend. A troll- a few years older and, Gurok thought, a great deal wiser than any in Thrallmar gave him credit for- overheard their teasing and came to sit on the edge of his cot while he brooded, silent but comforting. He closed his eyes briefly and hoped that Tablah was still safe in Orgrimmar.

"There was a time when I was _not_ hardened to such things," the undead elf said after a moment's consideration, as much amusement in his voice as its deadened tone could allow. "I do not remember it, though."

The warrior had a hard time imagining the death knight in life. Though he was a night elf in form, he seemed to lack everything that could mark him as one. Grey skin and eyes that were said to be the same blue as the glaciers of Northrend- though Gurok had to take the word of veterans on that, as he'd never seen the place himself- and dull, color sapped hair that was constantly flecked with crystals of ice. He seemed as out of place among nature as a sword place among roses; a _corpse_ would probably fit in better with the kaldorei.

Maybe that was why he didn't mind saving Horde?

"Jaidor said that the ones chasing you retreated back to Camp Mojache," the death knight said. He eyed the orc with unveiled curiosity.

Gurok felt nervous under the unwavering stare of the undead elf. Death knights never did seem much concerned with social boundaries or pleasantries. "Good. Though we are left in dire straits even with their retreat," he sighed.

"Why do they pursue you?" he questioned in the strangely hollow voice of his kind.

The warrior considered his next words carefully, debating how honest to be with the strange death knight. "Arastel is an assassin, more by necessity than desire at this point. Some years ago, his employer betrayed him and he was forced to flee her domain and take up residence in Orgrimmar. She has, somewhat abruptly, decided that she now wants him back in her employ and is going to great lengths to reclaim him. The hunter and his cronies intend to capture him and force him back into her service, we expect."

The death knight's gauntleted hands clenched into fists, though he maintained a faraway look and kept his face clear of any emotion. "You go to kill this misguided lord? His old master?"

Gurok nodded slowly. "We have not planned that far, but… I think death is inevitable. She holds his mother captive. And she commands too much power to ever accept anything less than getting what she desires."

"Such people are dangerous," the grey-skinned elf agreed, trailing the tip of his gauntlet down the edge of his blade. "I would travel with you to kill her," he said abruptly, his tone suggesting his mind had already been made up.

Gurok could not suppress a disbelieving grin. Then he sobered. "We could use the help, and we appreciate the offer of aid… but I do not think Alliance of any sort would be tolerated for long in the Undercity or Silvermoon."

The death knight was silent for a few moments. "Correct. I am Alliance," he said, as though to remind himself. A few more long seconds passed. "We did not think of ourselves as Horde and Alliance. We learned each other's living languages," he said with a brief smile.

Gurok returned it, dwelling on the fact that the death knight had acquired Orcish from a dead orc. "Thank the Ancestors for that. I haven't a clue what they're going on about," he said with a weak attempt at looking jovial, nodding in the direction of Arastel and the druid, who were conversing rapidly in Common.

"The elf is telling Jaidor of your heroism," the death knight said plainly.

"Oh." He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he tried to keep the blush from working its way up his neck.

"You are a loyal friend," the elf said quietly. "I hope to be as good a friend to Jaidor."

"You seem an unlikely pair," Gurok replied curiously. He snorted and added, "Though I suppose I have little room to comment, traveling with Arastel."

"Yes, few would pick a companion such as myself. But he is my friend," the death knight said with a touch of fondness that surprised Gurok. "He found me and brought me to the Alliance, introduced me to his female draenei, vouched for me among his guild. He does not look at me as he looks at flesh giants and abominations. He assures me that I am not a monster."

"We are fortunate to have such friends," Gurok said quietly, uncertain of what else to say in response to such a statement.

The death knight nodded curtly. "The elf appears well enough to move," he noted, leaning over to spy the druid helping Arastel to his feet. "Let us travel somewhere safer, where you can rest."

The night elf waited patiently for him to get on his feet, even hesitantly offering an extended hand when he swayed slightly.

"I think I can manage," Gurok groaned, already feeling winded. He waved off the death knight's aid, but hesitated when he thought he noticed the heavily plated shoulders slump dejectedly. "O-on second thought, I cannot," he said with a stifled gasp. "Ancestor's fire, it feels like I've been stuck with a thousand needles."

The death knight tentatively took his arm and supported him as he limped after Arastel and Jaidor, his grip surprisingly gentle, if uncomfortably cold.

"Understand that it wounds my pride greatly to rely so heavily on the aid of you two," he told the death knight as they hobbled along at a snail's pace.

He heard the ominously echoing chuckle of the elf. "I am familiar with the pride of orcs."

"Thank you," Gurok said quietly in between labored breaths.

"It is nothing." A beat later, the death knight added, "Few are willing to allow me to touch them."

The warrior let the death knight lead him deeper into the jungle, and for a brief moment, worry gripped his heart. His mind swam, thoughts of being turned over to Alliance officials or somehow winding up in Arcelia's clutches competing for purchase within his imagination. Or perhaps their consideration was only a show, and they were being led from the beaten path for some dark purpose of the pair.

He pushed the worry down. It did them little good- neither he nor Arastel was in any position to fight at the moment. And they _did_ owe the unlikely pair their lives. Whether he liked it or not, Gurok felt the bond that came naturally of a life-debt forming with the undead elf. It was very likely that he only drew breath now thanks to the death knight's actions, and regarding him as one would a dastardly-looking highwayman was an ill fitting attitude toward someone that had saved him.

They reached a camp shortly- a tidy place that was quite unlike the hastily thrown together sleeping spots he and Arastel had made during the trip. A tent made of thick blue cloth was suspended from a low hanging branch; before its entrance was a circle of pale stones round a fire pit, while the trunk of a young, fallen tree made for seating.

"Sleep now," the druid said in thickly accented Orcish, his voice too soft and musical for the guttural words. He guided Arastel into the tent and propped him up against the bedroll, murmuring something to the rogue as he tucked him in.

"What did that mean?" Gurok asked as he was ushered into the tent as well. He tried to feign reluctance as the druid doted on him, but in truth he delighted in the brief feeling of protection- it was something he had grown used to in Orgrimmar and now found himself sorely missing.

"He said to remain mindful that we are guests in their camp," Arastel said with a weak chuckle once the druid had left and pulled the opening shut. "He means, 'don't treat my tent like a brothel'."

Gurok snorted, his low laughter giving way to a sigh.

Even if it was only the illusion of safety, he clung to it like sleep on an early morning, letting the knowledge of the two night elves guarding them ease his mind as his aching body begged for rest. He muttered something to Arastel, his mind too tired to even take note of his words, and then slipped into slumber without a second thought.

* * *

"We couldn't possibly," was the first thing Gurok heard as he began to rouse himself.

He felt groggy and there was still a dull pain that could not be ignored, but he credited the druid's masterful work as he noted that many of his wounds were either healed or very close to it. As it was, he tested his digits and limbs and found them in good working order, and that was something to smile about.

"You are too generous by a half," Arastel's voice continued, sounding remarkably light. "And what of Jaidor's expedition? How will you carry on without- oh, good morning. Had a good night, did you?" he asked as Gurok poked his head out of the tent.

The warrior forcibly curtailed his grin. "Just happy that I seem to be working," he explained as he carefully stretched his neck and back.

"You both look well," the death knight remarked, nodding approvingly.

"It is all thanks to our druid friend," the rogue said amicably, inclining his head at the bashful green-haired elf. He added something in Common that made Jaidor chuckle and shake his head.

"It is," Gurok agreed, bowing his head in thanks. "We are indebted to you both."

"It doesn't end there, Gurok," the blood elf said with a beleaguered sigh. "Jaidor and Noax are insisting we also abscond with their supplies. I don't think they'll be content until we've left them penniless and owe them until our dying breaths," he added with a playful grin that was tempered by a genuine look of gratitude.

The death knight translated Arastel's words just as they left his mouth, and within moments the druid was huffing and throwing things into a canvas bag for them. The warrior saw food, flint, and a map go into the bag, along with a few potions and bandages for good measure. Jaidor even stalked into the tent to grab a bedroll to add to their parting gift.

With a look that _dared_ the two to try and deny his generosity, he bowed and presented the bag and the bundled bedroll to them.

The orc and the elf bowed in return and thanked the pair for their aid as they readied to leave.

"And what if the troll and the tauren find you next?" Gurok asked worriedly.

A grin slowly split the death knight's cracked lips. "Find us?" he asked as he took a step back and melded with the shadows of the forest, slipping away before the orc's very eyes.

"Ugh, night elves," Arastel said with mock disgust, though in truth the rogue appeared most interested in their ways of hiding.

As if wishing to reassure them as well, the druid sprang into the form of a sleek, dark-furred nightsaber and scurried into the forest, vanishing. A moment later Gurok felt hair tickle his leg and jolted upright at the lethal-looking cat suddenly crouched beside him.

He had never personally fought a druid, and seeing the night elf like this, all coiled muscle and oversized fangs and razorlike claws, certainly made him happy for that fact. "How grateful I am not to have encountered you two as foes," he said, smiling around his tusks.

"Alright," Arastel said, nodding as the chuckling kaldorei pair came to stand in front of them again, "thank you for all you have done for us. If you ever have need, let it be known that Arastel Sunsworn and Gurok Bloodtusk are deeply, _deeply_ in your debt." He added a farewell in Common before picking up the bag and turning expectantly to the warrior.

Gurok gave them a salute, thumping his fist over his chest solidly. "Be vigilant. Ancestors watch you," he said with a grim set smile. The druid answered with a bow, while the death knight inclined his helmed head slightly.

"Suffer well," the death knight called out as they turned to leave, his strange voice now somehow comforting.

The orc pondered that farewell as they began trekking through the dense forests of Feralas yet again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks again for the reviews! This one's a bit shorter than the previous ones. Hopefully it's a good read- I made more last minute changes than usual... -_-**

* * *

The rest of the journey north had been uneventful, except for a few sudden assaults from harpies which were swiftly ended by the pair. Even after sustaining enough cuts and bruises to make him a mottled mess of black and brown rather than his usual green, Gurok had to admit that it felt _good_ to put his sore muscles to use as he cleaved into the shrieking bird creatures.

Their relief at reaching the plains of Desolace was, however, quite short lived.

True to its name, it was largely desolate. And where it _wasn't_ desolate, it harbored centaur and scorpions and demons hidden within crumbling ruins.

Centaur were simple enough to deal with- having some measure of rationality, they could be convinced to leave well enough alone. And demons were nothing new to Gurok, who had slain far more menacing felguards and felhunters in Outland.

It was the meager sustenance that the place offered that worried them. The day was almost spent, and while they had covered much ground, there was still no sign of where to draw food and much-needed water. What few pools they came across were clearly tainted, turned a murky violet by residual fel magic, and vegetation was sparse.

They trudged along on Swiftpaw, their pace slow but steady. The unspoken fear was there- push her too hard and she would quickly thirst, and with no water to be found here, she would have to be sent back to the stables to rest and be tended to instead.

"We are nearly to the new outpost of the druids'," Arastel muttered from behind him, desperation in his voice. The orc could hear him lick his dry lips for the twentieth time in as many minutes.

They had quickly run through the last of the bloodthistle balm the elf had tucked in one of his pockets, their waterskins were nearly dry, and the provisions that the two night elves in Feralas had gifted to them would not last much longer.

"Where has all the game gone?" the rogue asked mournfully, scanning the ominously deserted area around them.

The sudden emptiness of the place alarmed the orc as well- no birds to herald their arrival, no scurrying critters or fleeing beasts. Even the scorpions seemed to have buried themselves away. "The smell of scorched earth…" Gurok muttered. Arastel gave him a curious look. "Can you not smell it?"

"No, all I smell is… nothing, really. Nothing at all," he croaked, his forehead creasing as he tried in vain to catch the same faraway scents that the orc could. "But I can tell you what I'd like to be smelling," he whispered in the warrior's ear.

Gurok felt the back of his neck go hot at the hushed words.

"Baking bread," Arastel muttered, sighing with longing. "Iced tea. Buttered peas and rice. A whole pig roasting, its skin coated with browning sugar. Chocolate. Lemonade with mint. Coffee turned pale with cream and sugar. And rivers of water so clear you can see every pebble at the bottom…" he added last, his voice going quiet at the thought.

Gurok licked his dry, cracked lips as they rode on, unable to shake the thoughts of sumptuous food and drink from his mind. He would have signed over the deed to his home for a pitcher of clear water and a roast pig at this point, and by the sounds of Arastel's keening, growling stomach, the elf would have done the same.

The acrid scent grew stronger, nearly burning Gurok's nose; his head felt clouded by the thick stench, and worry began to creep through him.

"I smell it now," Arastel muttered, distaste clear in his tone. "Like a forge and a campfire, but… worse."

The orc nodded grimly, his hands clenching around the reigns as he slowed Swiftpaw. They crested a hill, finally gaining a vantage point that exposed what lay ahead.

"Oh… Gurok," the rogue whispered, his grip on the orc's waist tightening painfully.

Charred, blackened earth stretched for miles it seemed, its darkness stark against the pale sky and the distant haze of mountains. It seemed a wasteland, and suddenly Gurok felt a pang of regret for having thought so little of Desolace; for all its barrenness, it had harbored a spark of life, a _chance_ at survival. It had been like Durotar- inhospitable, but habitable to those who were determined to carve out an existence there.

Now it was nothing more than a great scar of destruction, like the fel-touched places of Draenor, like the Dead Scar. Swiftpaw whimpered softly as she trod over the brittle shell of char, dark flakes clinging to her paws.

"Deathwing must have struck," the warrior said numbly, his jaw going slack as he took it all in. Nothing had been spared the mad Aspect's wrath- even sand had been melted and twisted by the force of his flame, leaving dark, rippling patterns undulating through the landscape.

They both inhaled in stunned, frightened wonder as they passed the remains of some massive creature, its great curved bones jutting out of the ash like deformed claws, cracked and bubbled from the heat.

"The outpost," Arastel said with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were wide as he met the orc's gaze, but his mouth had already settled into a resigned frown.

Gurok clenched his jaw and spurred Swiftpaw on northward, paying no mind to the ash their speed now kicked up. The dim, dusty landscape passed them in a blur of black and faded grey, and the unrelenting lifelessness of it made the orc despair.

Whatever life had sprung her after the Cataclysm, it was gone now. Any inadvertent good done by Deathwing's eruption into Azeroth had been reversed, all of the promise of Desolace reduced to a smoldering heap. A few particularly resilient trees now existed only as charred stumps, while here and there a hollow shell of a trunk had managed to persist, though they all looked like they might crumble at the slightest touch.

At last they slowed when they saw the barest indications of what looked to have once been a thriving center of druidic healing.

Gurok felt a sharp pang of grief as he saw the distinctive remains of a teepee's main supports, the three beams now charred and whittled down to almost nothing. He slipped from his wolf's back and headed toward it, heedless of anything else.

He stumbled over chunks of burned wood and rocks hidden under piles of ash and once or twice over what looked to be bones. Here and there he could find signs of life- one or two fence-posts, a discolored sword, warped bits of metal.

And there were bones. Not all were large enough to have come from the great kodos and other beasts that gravitated to places like these…

The orc stooped and brushed ash and dust from a battered shield that had curled in on itself from the heat. Through the sooty coating that blanketed it, he could see the raised patterns and symbols that detailed the tauren warrior's tribe and family. With a heavy sigh, he took one edge of the ravaged metal and lifted it- to find a set of splintered, blackened rib bones resting underneath.

He swore and let the shield drop, springing up and backing away until he felt dry, rough earth at his back. "Who knows how much of this is a burial ground," he said aloud, glancing around with growing despondency. Perhaps it would never be known how many tauren and night elves perished here. Perhaps no one else even knew of the outpost's dismal fate yet. "Arastel! Arastel, have you… found anything? Anyone?" he chanced to add.

"No. No, Gurok. I don't think," the elf said as he approached, still twisting and turning his head about as he scanned the ravaged outpost, "I don't think… even if they saw him coming," he said with a resigned sigh. He wiped at his cheek, inadvertently leaving a smear of dark ash across his skin. "Even if they fled," he added quietly, shaking his head.

"No," the warrior agreed, his shoulders sagging with the word. He had known that. The great burn across the land stretched too far, too wide. He shivered, images of the great harbinger of destruction looming up over the horizon filling his mind, unbidden. He could not say how he would meet such a fate; to stand helplessly in the path of utter destruction seemed as agonizing a death as could be imagined.

"I suppose we will have no luck hunting," Arastel croaked, taking Swiftpaw's reins and leading her closer. He licked his pale lips and turned to the orc. "There is nothing to do for them," he added softly as he took the warrior's hand. "The wind will scatter their ashes."

Gurok nodded, the movement making him feel dizzy. Or maybe it was the black dust he could taste in the air settling in his lungs…

"Let us rest," the elf said soothingly, leading the warrior by the hand as he trudged through the remains of the once-verdant spring.

They made camp far from the ruins of the Cenarion post, but still within sight of it. The few remaining teepee beams and totem posts stood as a pitiful, haunting reminder of the destruction; as dusk fell, they seemed more and more to resemble jagged bones jutting from the earth.

The ground of their camp was barren and burned, as it was everywhere else, but nearby boulders offered some protection from the wind that began to kick up, whisking ash and loose dirt into the air.

Gurok dismissed a thirsty, ash-caked Swiftpaw back to the Orgrimmar stables, where she could be tended to, and then curled up against one of the boulders. He sat mired in his thoughts while Arastel made whatever preparations their sparse camp needed. They were thoughts of people like Dala and Jaidor, who, in another timeline, could have been right here during the incineration. Whose bodies could have been turned to nothing by one careless act of a hateful beast, left to meld with the earth without any ceremony at all.

Or, if they had not been delayed… it could have been his and Arastel's misfortune to ride across the barren wastes just as Deathwing struck. The thought would not leave him.

"Gurok," Arastel said urgently, his voice at last drawing the orc out of his reprieve. "Gurok- ah, there you are. Eat something," he said, thrusting a sparse handful of dried berries under the warrior's nose.

Gurok nodded and tried, but the coating of dry dust and earth in his mouth turned the taste of everything. He swallowed reluctantly, and his stomach cried out at the meager meal.

The rogue passed him the only waterskin that still held any liquid- three mouthfuls at best- and urged him to drink. The orc raised it to his lips with shaky hands and let enough dribble into his mouth to wash down the sootiness that clung to his tongue and teeth. It tasted like death.

As night fell, cold and darkness quickly swallowed them. There was nothing left to burn for a fire; Deathwing had seen to that. It was all they could do to cling together and wrap the bedroll around themselves, their backs against the boulder and their reddened eyes turned out on the dark expanse before them.

"Things will look better come dawn, right?" the elf asked in a mouse of a voice, the sound nearly drowned out by the wind. Gurok turned his head and saw slivers of faint green light peering up at him from over his arm.

The warrior shifted, grunting as he finally managed to wrap his arm around Arastel and pull him even closer. Holding him was like holding a phoenix, small and warm with a fluttering heartbeat like a bird. "I don't know," he admitted, his brow arching slightly, his voice gruff from the lack of water and the desiccated, ash-laden air.

He felt unspeakably brittle for a moment as the truth of it weighed on him, the uncertainty of even tomorrow pressing down on his shoulders and chest like thousand-pound armor. He disappointed _himself_. How could he have presumed to accompany Arastel and protect him when he himself was like a fragile cage of spun glass- weak, a danger to the person he tried to shield, anything _but_ a bulwark against harm.

"Well, I do," Arastel said with a sniff. He buried his head against Gurok's chest and sighed, almost sounding content. "We will ingeniously find a way to survive, laughing in the face of death and danger as we ride victoriously toward Azshara, our gullets stuffed with conjured mana cakes and wine. We'll be fine," he assured the orc, finding the warrior's hand and entwining his fingers with the larger ones. "We'll be fine."

Gurok's smile grew slowly, at least in part because his dry lips felt ready to crack at any sudden movement. He nodded off to the elf's whispered assurances and his warm touch, each gentle word and squeeze of his hand bringing him a step closer to actually believing the rogue.

* * *

Arastel kept licking his parched, split lips over and over, finding no relief from the arid heat in the action. Gurok found himself in the same predicament.

They had awoken in a tangle, their skin only faintly damp as the quickly rising sun began to bake the blackened earth. Without food and with little water to help them begin the day, they had been lethargic and dazed as they gathered their things.

The only positive was that Swiftpaw was returned to them, her coat free- for the moment- of dusky dirt and her thirst sated. She trundled them along at a brisk walk, keeping her loping strides smooth as they both struggled to keep upright.

Arastel's face was buried against his bare back- neither could bear to wear much armor now, not with their limbs already so heavy and the air so unforgivingly hot- and he ensured his grip around the orc's middle by winding one of Gurok's shirts into a rope and wrapping it around his wrists until it knotted.

For his part, Gurok felt the trip's passing as though it was happing to someone else. Swiftpaw was guiding them, not him, and more and more often he found himself suddenly coming to without any idea of how long his consciousness had drifted away from him.

After an indeterminable length of travel- everything still looked the same, all glassy, burned sand and scorched earth- the warrior noticed the elf groaning lowly. Arastel's arms had gone slack, now held about his waist only by the bindings of the twisted up shirt.

"Arastel?" he asked, his throat grating at the use.

The rogue made an incoherent noise in response, and Gurok's pulse sluggishly picked up. Arastel was far smaller and slighter than he, and much more prone to weakness from deprivation.

"You need something in your stomach," the orc said aloud, the act of calmly speaking helping to stifle his rising panic. He carefully undid the elf's hands and then bade Swiftpaw to stop while he twisted around. "Come here," he murmured as he hoisted the elf out of the saddle and dragged him onto his lap.

With the rogue cradled against him, he slipped off of the wolf's back; he wobbled, but regained his balance after a moment. He pressed against Arastel, pinning the limp elf between himself and Swiftpaw to keep him up as he searched through their bags for something to give the rogue.

At the bottom of his pack he found a stale crust of bread. He broke off part that had molded and then crunched the rest up into smaller bits. He fished out their waterskin with the last of the water, knowing Arastel wouldn't be able to swallow the bread without it.

"Open up," he coaxed, running his thumb along the elf's jaw. "Come on." The elf acquiesced, and Gurok funneled the stale crumbs and water into his mouth; at once the rogue sputtered and coughed, and the orc hurried to cover his mouth to prevent him from spitting it out. "Eat, Arastel. Come on, chew."

The elf winced as he chewed, his eyes slipping shut again.

"Arastel?" the orc asked worriedly, tapping the rogue's cheek gently to rouse him.

"Stop that," the elf said, swatting lazily at his hand. He opened his eyes and blinked blearily up at him. "Stuck… between a rock and a hard place, eh?" he slurred, his gaze dropping to the chest of the orc pressed against him.

Gurok grinned, grateful for even a sliver of the elf's old self being back. But Arastel's uneven swaying and the unfocused look in his eyes still troubled him. He felt the rogue's forehead with the back of his hand and found it uncomfortably hot and bone dry.

"Can you stand?" he asked, slowly backing up. He kept his hands on the elf's waist to steady him.

"Yeah," the rogue said thickly. He pushed himself away from Swiftpaw and stood, wavering only slightly. "I'm… I feel better. A little. Thank you," he said slowly, still appearing to struggle for balance.

Gurok nodded. "We are in dire straits," he muttered, shambling forward to the pouch tied to Swiftpaw's harness. "We both need sustenance badly. Come here… Swiftpaw will feed us."

The elf cocked his head and shuffled over. "And how is that? Not… regurgitation, as with pups?" he asked in disgusted apprehension.

"No, though you may find that preferable," the orc murmured as he withdrew a small, grooved knife from his belt. He also pulled a funnel-mouthed skin and a reed that he had split in half from within her saddle pack. "Don't be alarmed," he said, giving the elf a warning look.

At Arastel's befuddled expression, the orc turned and carefully parted the thick fur on the side of Swiftpaw's neck. With a careful, experienced hand, he expertly slid the tip of the blade into the exposed skin.

"Gurok!" the rogue cried, drawing close to the orc as swiftly as he could. "What are you-"

"Drink quickly," the warrior said at once. Noticing that Arastel was still gaping and shaking his head, Gurok leaned in instead, using the reed to help funnel the wolf's bright blood into his mouth. He hurried to gulp down the bitterly metallic fluid and then pulled away to let it drain into the flask instead; all the while, Swiftpaw stood obediently still as she patiently waited for him to be done.

"I… am speechless," Arastel was muttering behind him.

"I highly advise you drink it warm and fresh," Gurok answered, turning to flash him a blood-red smile. "It is no more appetizing when cold and congealed. Quickly. I cannot afford to let her bleed with no purpose."

Swearing, Arastel gave him a sharp glare and edged forward until he was a hair's breadth from the wolf's neck. He sighed as the orc swapped the skin out for the reed and helped position it by the elf's mouth.

Gurok winced as the rogue choked and sputtered on the first mouthful. Golden eyebrows were drawn tight as he forced himself to swallow the rest of the blood as it trickled down the short reed. After a few moments, Swiftpaw gave them a short growl and Gurok gently tapped the elf's shoulder.

Arastel ducked away, doubled over and coughing, while Gurok staunched the flow of blood and applied a thick layer of white paste over the wound.

"I'm sorry," the elf said through his grimace, "but what was that for?" he asked as he wiped off his mouth.

"A warrior can live off of his wolf's blood for up to a week, depending on the circumstances," Gurok explained as he carefully spun the cap back onto the blood-filled skin. Then he winced. "_Our_ circumstances are not so forgiving. I would estimate that with the two of us, and in this heat… we have perhaps two days to find a suitable source of food and water."

"Two days?"

"And that may be a generous estimation," the orc added with a worried sigh. He licked his teeth, still tasting coppery blood there, and mounted up again. "Let us go while our wits are still about us," he said tiredly, offering the elf his arm.

Arastel looked up at him, his expression guilty as he took the offered arm and swung onto her back. "Can I… can I have some more?" he asked quietly as the wolf lurched into motion.

Gurok turned his head and gave the rogue a reassuring nod as he passed the blood-filled skin to him.

* * *

"Maybe Hatoof will die out here, following us," the elf said optimistically to Gurok's back.

"One can only hope," the orc sighed. He doubted it was likely if the hunter was as good as the rogue had said, but it was a nice thought nonetheless.

Swiftpaw carried them along at a brisk place, picking over the rocks and chunks of debris with sure footsteps. The land was slowly fading from black char to a more natural, earthy brown; however, even with the worst of Deathwing's damage behind them, there was little in the barren waste to suggest water or life.

"I wish we had some tea. I'll miss the teapot. That was a good one," the warrior commented as they found what looked to be the remains of a cracked, eroded road.

"That glove of Betila's got taken, too," Arastel said dejectedly. "At least Hatoof's fingers are too fat for him to use it," he said to console himself. "I hope he sticks himself with that bloody knife trying to cram it on."

"Arastel?"

"Yes?"

"Am I… am I hallucinating or is there green up ahead?" the orc asked hesitantly.

The elf leaned to the side to see past Gurok's bulk. "It is! I think there is even a tree! Quickly, quickly- where there's grass there must be water," he gasped, digging his fingers into the warrior's hips in his excitement.

Wild hope surged in the orc as he pushed Swiftpaw into a gallop. His lips spread into a wide grin as they crested a short, sparsely grassed hill and found a tiny, murky pond on the other side.

Arastel was whooping gleefully behind him as he ran the wolf straight into the water, laughing as he and the elf tumbled off. They landed with a splash, both covered in mud and slick… oily water.

"Arastel, stop," he said at once, pulling the elf's cupped hands away from his mouth. The water that he had had pooled in his palms fell in a scattered splash.

"Gurok," the rogue snarled, anger shining hot in his eyes at the denial. "What are you-"

"It's fouled," the orc said gruffly, sloshing backward out of the tiny pond. He took Arastel by the shoulders and pulled him away as well.

"Fouled?" the elf asked weakly. "No. No, no, no," he protested, starting to struggle against the warrior's grip. "No! It's- it's right _there_, Gurok," he cried. He let out a wracking breath and his whole body shook with the force of it. "Please. Please, Gurok, I'm so thirsty. I can't go without it. Please?"

Gurok clenched his jaw with enough force that he felt his tusks cutting against his upper lip; he squared his shoulders and pushed the rogue back, further from the spoiled water. He saw the elf's face twitch, his lips curling back and his eyes narrowing. "Arastel," he boomed, "stop whatever madness is brewing this instant." More softly, he added, "Trust me."

The elf hesitated, torn between pursuing the pondwater again and listening to the orc. Gurok was almost loathe to do this to him- to take away something that was giving him so much fight, so much energy- but he was resolute in protecting the elf as much as possible, and this could have grievous consequences.

He grunted in resignation and took a few steps backward toward the water, his eyes still trained on Arastel as he waded in up to his calves. With a sigh, he let his gaze slip down toward the dark liquid; across the surface there was a sheen with a pale golden tint. He recognized it too well. The orc closed his eyes as he stuck an arm into the shallow pond, his fingers scraping the bottom as he searched.

Suddenly he felt something soft and slippery, and his stomach turned; he fought down the sudden swell of nausea and tried to convince himself it was something other than what he expected. He grimaced as he fought to keep a hold of the slimy mass.

With a strangled grunt he trudged to the shore and heaved the dead weight to the sand.

"Oh, Light," the elf muttered, hands over his nose and mouth in revulsion.

It looked to be a night elf, though most of the features that would have distinguished it had been bloated or disintegrated by the water. "Grease on the water. Fat. Among other things, likely," the warrior muttered, looking down at their own dampened bodies disgustedly.

"Gurok," Arastel whispered, his face slightly green. "Let's go." He turned on his heel, one hand on his side as he staggered away from the fetid watering hole.

The orc looked after him, his thick brows drawn up with worry. "Arastel, I'm sorry-"

A sudden howl from Swiftpaw made them both freeze. The elf looked back at him, his face pale and eyes wide with apprehension and concern.

"Swiftpaw?" the orc shouted immediately, his heart racing. He whistled, a loud clear note.

She howled again, this time finishing with a number of excited yips.

The orc and the elf hurried in the direction of the noise, Gurok feeling slightly heartened by his wolf's enthusiastic barking. His heart had surged with dread at the sound of her first howl, fearing that the troll hunter had perhaps come across her...

The warrior slid down the next steep, barren embankment, and to his utter surprise, he landed in water. Swiftpaw was prancing bank and forth along the opposite side of the large pond, obviously proud to have discovered it.

Arastel splashed down beside him, his strangled cry offering just as much amazement. He flipped his wet hair out of his face, his expression sobering as he asked, "Is this one… like the other?"

Gurok swallowed dryly as he scanned the surface of the water. He scooped up a handful and let it run between his fingers. It was warm, and flecked with dirt- not pristine by any means- but not rotten, either. "N-no, I think this is good. Very good. Good girl, Swiftpaw," he said, grinning at the wolf.

She sneezed and then laid down on the bank, eyeing the pair lazily.

The elf stooped in the water until it reached his chin. "Cheers," he smiled as he took his first gulp.

Gurok laughed and submerged himself, letting the whole of his body soak for a moment. He had felt perpetually dry since they had reached Desolace and did not want to pass up a rare opportunity like this. He drank enough to slake his desperate thirst, and with a full belly, he then waded to the shore where Arastel and Swiftpaw lay.

"I'm sorry," was the soaking wet elf's greeting to him. His green-eyed gaze drifted down to the damp earth.

"Apology accepted?" Gurok said with a cocked head. "I don't know what you're- oh. Oh, right," he muttered, recalling the rogue's outburst at the previous watering hole.

"Yes, that," Arastel said despondently. "I show my true, viperous colors once again, don't I?" he said with a hollow laugh.

"It's not like that," the orc consoled, settling down on the ground beside the slim assassin. "I have seen... on Draenor, the demons would do such things to poison our wells. Bodies of the fallen, fel residue, whatever they could find to sicken us. I saw adventurers and other guards go mad with thirst as we waited for deliveries of clean water. I have been punched, strangled, and spat on while barring thirst-crazed comrades from the poison," he explained. "You giving me a dirty look is really nothing at all," he added gently.

The elf made a thoughtful noise as he ruminated on that, absently digging the tips of his boots into the sand and shoveling it up. "I was not in my right mind," he said at last, a heavy sigh leaving him. "I trust your judgment," he assured the orc.

"I know," Gurok said with a lopsided smile. He laid down beside the reclining blood elf, groaning as his shoulder blades touched the soft earth. He had not realized how tense the days in the saddle and hunched against the night's cold had made his muscles.

"I am thankful to have you by my side," the elf murmured from beside him after some time had passed, still picking dead leaves and blades of grass from his damp clothing.

Gurok felt a smaller hand slip into his, thin fingers stroking his palm, and went rigidly still. He held his breath as though he was at the bottom of the sea.

"I can't help but feel like we should be up and about rather than just lying here," the elf said with a short, nervous laugh.

"We _should_," the orc replied with reluctance. "But I find I am having a difficult time caring at the moment," he said with a groan as he arched his back and felt the muscles there cry in protest.

"I am inclined to agree," Arastel said with a contented sigh. "About not caring. Though I would not say no to a four course meal…"

A deep, rumbling laugh escaped the orc, and at once he felt his limbs loosen and relax. He flexed his fingers and gingerly took hold of the elf's hand, cradling its warm. "Yes… let us rest a bit, then we will hunt. Game cannot be far."

After a precious hour spent lying contently under the sun in dazed half-sleep, the pair was roused into action by their hunger. Though larger beasts like deer and elk were conspicuously absent, there were a number of critters and small, flightless birds about; Arastel managed to snare a pair of hares while Gurok shot a plump fowl and a snake that wandered close to their camp.

"How exotic," the rogue commented as he ran a stick through the serpent and put it over the small fire.

Gurok snorted. "Are there no snakes in Eversong?" he asked as he gave the meat a gentle squeeze before sticking it back over the fire.

"Oh, there are quite a lot of them," Arastel snickered. "They run around in the guise of elves, though."

"Ah," the orc chuckled. "We have many in Durotar," he said quietly. "More and more, it seems. The venomous sort."

"Are we speaking of the reptile now?" the elf asked jovially.

Gurok laughed and shook his head good-naturedly. "How is your hare?"

"Divine," Arasted sighed. "As good as any meal from a fine tavern. Better, even. I could eat an elekk right now," he commented as he nibbled the last of the meat from a thigh bone.

"You were right," the warrior said a slow grin. When the rogue gave him a questioning look, Gurok nudged him gently with his elbow. "You said you knew we'd be okay. And we are."

"For now," the elf responded, light in his eyes.

"For now," the orc agreed.

A warm, comfortable silence descended as they finished eating- to avoid upsetting their deprived stomachs, they had forced themselves to consume their meal with slow, methodical bites. Only now was the orc starting to feel full.

The sun was already down, and the stars were one by one beginning to blink into view; the only light came from the two half moons above and the low fire burning before them. It was enough for him to see the elf by, the pale glow from the sky highlighting his hair and the smooth planes of his face while the firelight flickered across his eyes and throat.

He finished sucking the marrow out of a bone and then groaned in contentment. He then found his shirt and vest, discarded during their searing trek across the burnt earth, and began to pull them on. Desolace quickly grew chilly in the night.

"I've noticed you have a great many scars," the elf said quietly, glancing up from his food. He stared pointedly at the orc's chest. "I do, too."

Gurok paused with his shirt around his shoulders; then he looked down and smiled, spotting the particularly pronounced curve across his chest where a felguard's axe had caught him. "Comes with living, I suppose," he shrugged. "How did you get that one?" he asked cautiously as he tugged the shirt on the rest of the way, his eyes automatically flitting to the rogue's neck.

"You'll have to be more specific," the elf said with a languid smile.

"Your throat," he muttered, running thick fingers over his own, feeling along where the knife would have had to slide, imagining a blade running across his own skin.

"Oh, right… I guess you haven't really seen most of the others," Arastel said aloud, his own fingers on his throat now. "It's hard to say," he mumbled, his shoulders tensing up. "To tell you how I got this, I'd have to tell you everything. Well," he amended, glancing up at the stars, "perhaps not. To make a long, painful story short, it happened while I was imprisoned."

"That… is not much of a story at all," the orc commented lightly, not wanting to push for the truth again, but not wanting to simply accept the nondescript explanation.

"No, I suppose it isn't," the elf agreed as he began nervously flipping a small dagger into the air. He caught it by the tip of the blade every time. "Gurok," he said, clearing his throat.

"Yes?" the warrior responded, looking up at him rather than the fire that he had been idly prodding.

"I was thinking… last night. And today. I thought," he drew in a breath, "I thought you probably do deserve to know what you've gotten yourself into. About me. No, you _definitely_ deserve to know," he corrected, his tone morose. "You have been as selfless and loyal to me as is possible, and I have kept myself shrouded, taking advantage of your trust and friendship without giving anything of myself in return."

Gurok's mouth settled into a frown. "I will not deny that I wish you to tell me, but you are unduly harsh to yourself," he told the elf.

Arastel shook his head. He stared down at his lap and busied himself with slowly rotating his ring around his finger. "I will tell you. _Everything_. But please, if you detest me afterward…" He worked his mouth for a moment, squinting as he searched for the right words. "Even if you despise me, just… nevermind. I have no right to ask your kindness. Judge me as you see fit," he said grimly.

The orc gave him a sad, reassuring smile. "I could not hate you, Arastel. Let your fears be eased."

The rogue sighed at that, his brows drawn together and his eyes downcast. "After my father died, my uncle's family cared for my mother and me. For that I am grateful, because she had no family of her own and I believe we would have been destitute without their aid. My uncle saw in me a… potential. He trained me from a very young age in knives and poisons and anatomy. But not in bows," he said with a soft smile. "Never was big on bows."

Gurok edged a little closer and nodded for Arastel to continue, as the he seemed to have shrunken in on himself. His voice seemed brittle and volumes too quiet now, and his ears drooped dejectedly.

"I was still quite young when Arcelia recruited me," the elf said quietly, his gaze drifting away. "One of her rogues had seen me training, she said. She offered me everything- gold, protection for myself and mother, a sort of kin among her ring. I knew that I could not rely on my uncle forever, so I accepted. I signed the contract in blood- _my_ blood- binding myself to her service for as long as I lived, or until I was… terminated."

"The same contract she says she has with you now?" the warrior asked.

"The very same," Arastel said with a derisive snort. "For years, I carried out her orders in secret. Arcelia had a reputation, so I never told my mother, fearing she would worry herself to death. And I did not tell my uncle, for I knew he would not approve. He and Arcelia are not enemies, per say, but he is adamant about running the family business independently, whereas she would have all of the bloodthistle trade under her thumb."

The rogue chewed the edge of his thumb for a moment, studying the fire with a focused intensity. "Arcelia is brilliant in how she indoctrinates her followers. How she bends them to do her bidding. It began with rather mundane tasks- making a bit of evidence disappear from the justice building's files or stealing some merchant's new Dwarven vase- and very gradually they grew to be more dire and heinous acts. Murders, extortions, torture. I… I followed her down every step of that path," he said with a tight voice.

Gurok felt chilled as he heard the words on the elf's lips. It was hard enough to imagine Arastel as an assassin… but a torturer? The very idea was foreign to him, an impossibility, a sick joke. Not the same Arastel that had been sickened and had turned away from a body not three hours ago…

The elf took a deep breath as he continued. "When one of our number was accused of betrayal, Arcelia tested my mettle by having me…" He grimaced and looked away, his shame apparent in the coloring of his face. "I cut her apart slowly. Ignored her pleas for mercy. Let her linger on the brink for hours. I had never drawn out death before. But I did it then, simply because Arcelia asked it of me. Because I had this twisted _love_ for the 'family' and it made me seethe that someone could betray it."

He glanced back to the orc suddenly, as if to gauge his reaction. If he saw anything troubling in the orc's demeanor, though, his expression betrayed nothing. Gurok steeled himself, meeting the elf's gaze evenly and nodding to encourage him.

"I was one of her favored assassins for some years. I was paid well, and respected, and I told my mother that I had been recruited by a guild and that my earnings came from expeditions. And over those years I killed hundreds, perhaps. And sometimes I only maimed them, because those were orders, or I killed a loved one to send a message. Whatever was asked of me." He stared down into his lap, picking at a chip in one of his nails. "And one day… I dropped out of her favor. Then, I regarded it as a mistake, but now I am grateful that I have at least one saving grace. I was given orders to kill the daughter of a high elven dignitary- just a little girl, still a child- and I told her that I could not. It still struck me as a line that I should not cross."

He laughed darkly and shook his head. "My stupidity… for some reason I had thought that Arcelia would be sympathetic. She had always been something of an older sister figure, and as much of a cold-blooded monster she might have been to her victims, she was… she _seemed_ warm and supportive to me. But my denial changed that. Utterly. I noticed she had distanced herself from me and I struggled to prove myself to her again. She offered me a mission, most dreadful, and I _begged_ her to let me have it."

"It was not… a child, to prove yourself?" Gurok asked haltingly, uncertain of whether he truly wished to know.

They both went quiet as the wind rose to a hollow howl, the gust making their fire stutter and shrink. It passed, and the flames grew back, and in the quiet, Arastel continued.

"No. Fortunately, it was not, or I fear I might have gone through with it to please her," he said grimly. "No, it was a scandal. One Silvermoon noble sought to discredit another- a Lady Sunsong hired Arcelia to ensure that a Ser Lightguard would be found unsuitable for appointment to an office they both desired. It was a fairly ambitious plan. I was to fabricate evidence of various underhanded political dealings that incriminated Lightguard, as well as tie his estate to a slew of suspicious deaths that had occurred in the city in that year. Then I would plant the evidence with one of his servants, the idea being to suggest a worker privy to the household had made these connections."

At the orc's expression of utter disbelief the rogue gave him a wan smile. "Did I not say Eversong is full of snakes? I include myself in that number," he added with a forlorn sigh. "To seal Lightguard's disgrace, we… _I_ placed the incriminating documents in the servant's house," he said with downcast eyes, "and then killed her and her family, taking care to make it lead back to him. He would be doubly damned. Guilty of both his previous crimes and murdering an entire family to cover it up. There would be no way to recover in the eyes of the public after such a blow," he said plainly.

"I carried out the orders as Arcelia had given them to me, and she… she sold me out. I only found out later that Lightguard had caught wind of the machinations in motion and had offered Arcelia a hefty sum to shape the events in his favor instead. They turned the whole story- exposed the framing, letting Sunsong and I take the fall. They caught me with the blood on my hands. Lightguard came out looking sympathetic, his adversary was publically shamed and imprisoned, and I was sentenced to be executed."

"Executed?" Gurok asked, aghast.

"Yes, that is standard procedure for murderers," the elf said dryly. "I was to be kept in the dungeons until my date with the executioner. I had many enemies there, of course," he muttered. "I couldn't have _spit_ in those dungeons without hitting someone that wanted me dead, and without Arcelia's protection it was just a matter of time, really. By the fourth day I was too exhausted from lack of food and sleep to defend myself any longer. One of them held my arms while another came from behind and yanked my head back."

The warrior winced as he imagined it. Then he snorted in surprise. "They were allowed knives in there?"

"No, no, of course not. It was a sharp sliver of stone from one of the bricks in the wall," the elf explained with a shake of his head. "That's why it's not a very clean cut," he explained, running his fingertips over the mess of pale scars. He tilted his chin up so the orc could get a better look. "Took a few tries, but I bled sure enough. They dropped me as the guards came. I don't remember a lot after that, but… from what I understand, they thought me dead. Or close to it. I doubt anyone ever expected me to make it to that execution date," he scoffed.

Gurok's look was sympathetic, and it seemed to hearten the elf.

"They took me to the prison healer to be prepared for cremation. Luckily, my uncle had gotten to her first- he was disappointed in me, but still thought me worth saving, apparently- and she patched me up rather than putting me on a pyre. I managed to live, and to escape. Not stealthily, mind you," he added. "They tailed me through the countryside until we were damn near the Plaguelands. Thought they'd never let up. But… Silvermoon's jurisdiction has to end somewhere," he shrugged. "So that's it. That's me. Awful, isn't it?"

The orc nodded. "I must admit, I was not expecting… I don't know _what_ I expected, but that was not it," he said truthfully, still a little stunned.

"You're disgusted by me, aren't you?" Arastel said sadly, and Gurok was stricken.

The elf turned away, his face buried against his knees, and for a moment the warrior was reminded of the death knight in Feralas.

He edged closer to Arastel again, only stopping when his thigh brushed the elf's hip. Hesitantly, he laid a hand upon the rogue's back. He felt the muscled under the leather stiffen and tighten momentarily. "I'm not disgusted by you. I don't abhor you," he murmured. "I don't think you're a monster and I still care very much about you- whatever doubts you have, let them be laid to rest tonight. I thank you for telling me all this. I'm… I'm happy to know this part of you, as sad as it is."

"Gurok," the elf said with a sob. At least, he orc assumed that was what Arastel had said, because the sound was more like a choking noise with some guttural and vowel sounds, and then he curled in on himself more tightly as a shudder wracked his body. The warrior's eyes widened and his hand went rigid, completely uncertain of what he had done wrong and how to fix it and what to do with his hand, which was still awkwardly pressed against the elf's back.

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled, giving Arastel's back a pat and then withdrawing from the rogue to give him some space.

"No, don't," the elf said quickly, his words thick and muffled. "I had been holding that back for a while," he explained. He wriggled and turned until he better faced the orc, who could now see that his nose and cheeks were reddened and his eyes moist. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm just… 'overwhelmed' is a good word, I think," he sniffed. "You are a stalwart companion. I had never allowed myself to hope for such a friend. Always mistrusting…"

"I would not forsake you." There were other words he could have said, ones he _wanted_ to say, but he doubted whether it was the time or place for such soft, romantic utterances. In the renown forests of Ashenvale, perhaps, dappled with pale, lavender-hued light- or Eversong, or even one of the quieter, less morbid places in Tirisfal. But not here.

"I know you wouldn't," Arastel replied, a soft smile crossing his lips- and for the first time, Gurok felt as though the elf believed the words as he said them, absolutely and without a shadow of doubt. Arastel's gaze flitted to the ground. "My own mother could not forgive me. I did not expect to find such wholehearted acceptance from anyone else."

The orc reached out to brush back the rogue's hair, his tense posture relaxing as he felt Arastel lean into the touch, felt him slide closer until their sides pressed up against each other. "I imagine it would be hard news for a mother to bear," he said uneasily. He thought of his own mother, wondering how she might have reacted if he had committed such dreadful acts.

"It nearly killed her," Arastel said softly, hiding his face against Gurok's shoulder. "What I'd done. What I'd been doing. Arcelia even used the opportunity to blame me for a number of crimes her ring was responsible for, some that I'd had part in, some that I hadn't. I only saw my mother once after it all came out- as I was hauled through the streets- and she looked _so_ _repulsed_," he said, shaking his head and nudging closer to the orc as though he craved contact. "She never came to the prison to see me. Can't exactly hold it against her, though."

Gurok made a thoughtful noise. He gently wrapped an arm around the elf's slim form and held him tight against his side. He felt his heat meld with Arastel's, could hear his quiet, shaky breaths and smell what little of him wasn't masked by the dust and dirt of this place. It felt right this time, to touch him. "Perhaps her heart will change when you see her next," he murmured.

"It will probably be quite the shock," the elf chuckled mirthlessly. He made no move to free himself from Gurok's embrace; rather, the orc noticed, he seemed to be inching closer, maneuvering himself into a more comfortable position against him. "I think she believes me dead."

The warrior grimaced slightly on the rogue's behalf. "Then the greater her joy will be to see her son alive, returning to rescue her," he said reassuringly. He hoped it would be so, for Arastel's sake. He could not fathom being so despised by his own mother.

"Maybe," the elf said in hopeful tones, turning to let his head rest on the orc's broad chest. "Maybe…"

"How do you feel about returning? To Silvermoon?" Gurok asked him.

"Worried," the elf admitted. "Of course. A little frightened. Somewhat… excited? But mostly worried. What I went through was a suitable punishment for my crimes," the elf said, reaching up to feel along his scarred throat. "I don't doubt that I deserved it, and while I do think a bit of remorse did me good, I am not the type for self-flagellation and I would not willingly suffer another bout of Arcelia's wrath or the public's ire… yet it is likely that I will experience both again," he said glumly.

"Bah," the orc scoffed. "You are a good rogue. None will even know of your arrival in the city until we have already taken flight from it," he said confidently. He hid his frown and his own worry; now was not the time to dwell on the danger that lay ahead, not in this too-brief moment in between perils.

"You have much faith in my skills," Arastel said, looking up with a subdued but pleased grin.

"I have much faith in _you_," Gurok corrected, thinking again of the death knight. He turned and scanned Arastel's eyes intently and was encouraged when he saw none of the self-loathing and doubt that had been on display as he had recounted his story.

"Have I ever told you that you have striking eyes?" the elf murmured suddenly, startling the orc into realizing that Arastel had matched his gaze.

"That is a high compliment, coming from a blood elf," the warrior replied. "I think you exaggerate, but I appreciate it nonetheless."

Arastel rolled his eyes before sitting up and facing Gurok, nearly straddling one of the orc's thighs now, his face half a foot from the warrior's. The orc sucked in a quick breath through his teeth at the sudden intensity with which he felt himself being studied.

"Striking, like a predator's eyes in the night, like a wolf's eyes," the elf whispered, still staring intently. "I have seen amber in Un'Goro, and your eyes seem an even clearer, purer color of it- except for the few flecks of… bronze? Yes, bronze. Right around the middle," he said with a smile before leaning back, apparently satisfied with his inspection.

Gurok felt his heart thumping rapidly within his chest, stirred to excitement by the rogue's proximity and attention. He felt heady, thrilled by Arastel's words and the way he only seemed to have eyes for _him_. He would chide himself later for it, but he could not help but bait the elf for more. "I will admit that I am pleased to know that _something_ about me can elicit a favorable response," he said with a halfhearted smile.

"You are unduly harsh to yourself," Arastel responded quickly, his radiant eyes narrowing. "And if you want compliments, all you need do is ask, Gurok," he chuckled. "I will pay you many."

The orc blushed and looked to the ground, too abashed to meet the elf's piercing stare.

"You are also striking in stature and figure. Strong but kind, and with more mercy in one tusk than I have seen of the whole Horde in recent months," he said with a soft sigh. "You are thoughtful and steadfast, talented in many respects… and a warrior I would gladly have at my back. Or in my bed," he added with a little laugh. "You _are_ ruggedly handsome."

Gurok was so caught on the elf's words that he barely noticed Arastel playfully scratch at his stubbly beard. After a moment he caught hold of the elf's hand and held it still, stroking his pale, calloused palm with his own equally calloused thumb. "You really think that?" he questioned.

"Of course I do," Arastel said with a small smile. "I have always thought that," he said simply. "I flirted with you from time to time, did I not?" he asked with a shy grin.

"I did not take you seriously- elves I have met often treat such things as little more than a diversion. I harbored hopes, but…" Even now he felt an optimistic swell of hope surge through him, making his whole body feel lighter. That this conversation was happening, that it was happening in _Desolace_ of all places, under such circumstances, made him almost giddy with disbelief.

"I was quite sincere," the rogue assured him, "though I did often play it off as harmless fun, so I do not fault you for thinking so. I was not as straightforward as I might have been," he added, shuffling around until he was comfortable on the ground, "because… I had reservations."

"Oh." The orc let his shoulders fall just a bit, his mood taking a slight dive.

"Not about _you_, Gurok," the rogue said with a sigh and a shake of his head. "About what I would be getting you into. About how I would disappoint you when you learned the truth. And now both points are fairly irrelevant, so I will say it openly- you are a fine orc. I would have bedded you the first night we met based on appearances alone, if I were that sort of elf," he smirked. "I _still would_," he added emphatically, "but… not for appearances alone."

Gurok couldn't hide his smile, so he stared down at his knees and rocked backward, unsure of what to do with the spark of happiness running through him.

"It really is all contingent on you and _your_ feelings," Arastel continued, his tone more serious. "I am yours, if you will have me."

"This is not a dream?" the orc asked, glancing up and searching for confirmation.

"No, it is not," the rogue said, "though I am flattered you ask. It would be quite a dismal dream, though, wouldn't it?" he questioned, his forehead creasing. "Blood and poison, life-or-death pursuits, endless wandering through barren wastes…"

"It has its highs and its lows," the orc replied, trailing a finger along the curve of Arastel's cheek and then down along the side of his neck. His skin wasn't smooth, not entirely- patches of dried, cracked mud still dotted him and thin, raised scars lay underneath _that_, and the simple touch felt like a journey to the warrior.

Scars were important to orcs. He knew the scars of his mother, of his father. He knew his own- they marked the great twists and turns of his life, the great defining moments in which his fate could have taken another, very different, course. And he looked forward to learning of each of Arastel's scars and the stories behind them, their significance to the blond elf; he hoped to know them as well as his own one day.

The thought made his chest ache with longing, both sharp like a dagger's edge and deep like the yawning night sky. Looking upon Arastel only intensified the feeling.

The elf bit his lip as Gurok sighed pensively and let his hand fall away. "I revealed a great deal of myself to you this evening," he said with a touch of nervousness. "I did not tell you _all_ of my secrets- that would probably take a week or two of my incessant chatter- but I want you to know that I will try to be honest with you from now on. Completely honest. If there is anything you wish to know, simply ask me. I will not hide from you any longer."

"I am glad to hear that," the orc said softly. "My past is yours as well. My... _current_," he said hesitantly, "I am a bit more wary to offer up, but I will attempt to be forthright. I cannot guarantee that I will unabashedly divulge my darkest secrets, but…"

"So, what you're saying," Arastel said, his golden brows drawn together in a farce of deep thought, "is that you will _not_ answer me if I ask if you've had any lewd visits from me in your dreams?"

"I have no comment," the orc said flatly, his face shifting to the purposeful blank that he had developed as a guard.

"No staring up at my backside from under my hammock?"

"What?" Gurok asked incredulously, his expressionless façade slipping.

"Ah, so that's a 'no', then. Pity," the elf murmured to himself. "Now, when you used to let me sneak into Grommash Hold, I would sometimes turn and catch you staring in this general vicinity," he said as he gestured to the curve of his lower back and the swell of his backside. "What were your thoughts then, exactly? Did that play into your cooperation in my schemes?"

"I-I… no comment," he hurried to say.

Arastel made a thoughtful noise as he squinted at the orc.

"I will say nothing on the matter," Gurok said stiffly.

A grin tugged at the elf's lips, one that he desperately tried to fight off. "When I accidentally poisoned you and you wound up naked on your living room floor-"

"No, no, no, we're not talking about that-"

"You didn't even hear my question!" the rogue laughed, already wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I don't need to," the warrior said at once. "Go to sleep, Arastel," he said, nudging the elf away and assuming a rigid pose as he stared into the darkness beyond their camp.

"Gurok!"

"_Sleep_. I will take watch," Gurok grunted, digging himself in and staring straight ahead into the darkness.

He heard a faint reply along the lines of "I _bet _you will," as the rogue laid out their bedroll, a grin still on his lips.

His lips, chapped and cracked but still so mesmerizing. The orc struggled to fight down the faint fluttering of his heart in his throat as he thought of the rogue's professed fondness for him. And in the end, he let himself hold on to that feeling. It felt good to simply have this teasing, this acknowledged affection. It was something to cling to when his thoughts drifted back to Arastel's past and their undoubtedly thorny future.

He glanced over as the elf crouched down beside him on his way to the sleeping bag, his still-damp hair tied up in a loose bun and his leathers temporarily exchanged for a thick cotton shirt.

"Thank you," he said softly, placing a slim hand on the orc's knee as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips, gentle in pressure but rough in texture, their worn and dried skin brushing together with a sense of friction.

Like a worn blade put to the grindstone, Gurok thought, a little rough and certain to ignite a few sparks. He barely had time to let it register, to move his lips against the elf's and respond in kind, before it was over.

Arastel pulled away slowly, letting his hand linger on the warrior's leg. "And goodnight. Wake me at about two bellows past midnight, would you?"

With that he crept away and slid into the bedroll without waiting for a response.

Which was perhaps for the best, because Gurok was still too stunned to do anything but raise a hand to his lips and run his fingers over the still-tingling skin.

* * *

**The orc remind me of the Mongol Horde in a lot of ways, and Mongol archers were known to live off of their horses' blood from time to time, so… :D  
I hope parts weren't all too wordy and/or confusing. idk.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks again for the reviews! I'm glad people out there enjoy reading this! I sat on this chapter for forever but now I'm shoving it out of the nest.**

* * *

Neither of them said anything about the kiss the next morning, instead sharing an amiable silence as they packed up their meager supplies.

There was a niggling doubt in the back of Gurok's mind that it was because the elf regretted it, that he had only done such a thing out of pity or a feeling of obligation, but he quickly pushed the thought away. Arastel had shared a piece of his past- a brutal, shameful, _painful_ piece- with him. They were clearly beyond the point of false pretenses, weren't they?

"I think we are at last free of the cruel reminder of Deathwing's visit," Arastel said as he shielded his eyes and scanned the horizon. His dirty, knotted hair was tied up in a sloppy bun atop his head, and the orc noticed that they both reeked of earth and sweat.

Gurok nodded as he tied down their sleeping bag to Swiftpaw's saddle. "It looks like nothing but grassy hills until Stonetalon." He made a noise that was a mix of relief and worry. "And then Ashenvale. I think we should be there before nightfall, if we set a good pace."

Arastel ruffled the thick, fluffy fur that ringed the wolf's thickly muscled neck. "Counting on you, Swift," he said, laughing as she let out an undulating howl in reply. "We could be in Azshara in two nights," the rogue said wistfully as he clambered onto the wolf after the orc. He slid easily into the saddle, pressing up against the warrior without hesitation.

Gurok guided the rogue's hands around his middle, his calloused fingers lingering as he brushed over the elf's knuckles. "Let's set a good pace," he said to Swiftpaw, nudging her with his heels as they turned to the north. He grinned as he felt the rogue cling to him harder as they set out.

It was a long ride, but after Feralas and the burned wastes of Desolace, it was almost idyllic. The wind was fair and stayed at their back, and the promise of Ashenvale's cool forest urged them onward. Durotar's wolves were renowned for their endurance, and Swiftpaw's constant trot did them proud, steadily carrying them over miles of sparse grass and pebbly earth.

They stopped only briefly in Stonetalon, never more than a half hour at a time, letting the great wolf rest while they stretched out their legs and relieved themselves. Gurok and Arastel even ate while astride her back, finishing the last scraps of last night's dinner- cold, scorched snake and stringy fowl.

Gurok was wary of resting too long within the winding pass through the high cliffs and mountains. It had only been a month and a half since rumors had spread of the madness that had gripped the overlord here, the dark path that had been taken.

The pair astride the wolf fell into an uncomfortable silence as they passed a grove strewn with twisted scraps of metal and splintered wood, the scorched, blown out husk of a massive tree at its center.

Gurok knew the sad events that had unfolded here well enough- the Kor'kron didn't rely on the mutterings of wandering adventurers like common grunts and civilians did. He'd heard the truth of it from Ungrik, who'd read the reports made by Yarda, who had dutifully transcribed the Warchief's own account of all he'd learned… and what he'd done.

_Dropped from a cliff…_ Amber eyes swept the jutting columns of sand-colored stone around them, wondering if they were close to where to the dishonored overlord had been summarily dismissed. It was not the way that Thrall would have handled it, certainly… but Gurok couldn't deny that it seemed an effective way to nip this sort of rabid zeal in the bud. All of Cliffwalker village had burned, even tauren falling under the axe of the overlord- a bitter loss, but the overlord's execution was some consolation.

Swiftpaw padded softly through a pass that was lined with bones and dulled plate, some still tangled together where they had fallen in battle. Gurok nearly considered bringing the wolf to a halt so they could search the dead soldiers- a low thing to do, to be certain, but they were in no position to pass up supplies of any sort- when he remembered that companies of goblins had been vital to the operations in these mountains.

_Doubtless, these corpses have been picked over and picked over,_he thought glumly. Nothing of value or use could remain this long after the fighting had peaked and ebbed.

"I hope we find a moonwell," the elf piped up quietly from behind him. He shifted, his thighs rubbing against the orc as he fought the saddle soreness that he'd complained of when they last stopped.

"A moonwell?" Gurok scoffed. He was glad for the elf's voice- with every run down shredder they edged past, he had felt a little more uneasy. "I'd never had you pegged as a faithful of Elune," he teased.

Arastel's laugh was low and pleasing to the ear. "I only meant for a good bath."

The warrior grunted in reply. "If only. But if it's all the same, I'd rather we avoid the night elves entirely if possible… I imagine the Sentinels would hang us upside down and use us for target practice if they caught us bathing in their precious moon pools."

"Fine, be prudent," the rogue ribbed. "Did I ever tell you that I once knew a troll that claimed to come upon a moonwell there once? And he decided to have a little soak? He said he was halfway through stripping when a priestess came out of the forest and stopped in her tracks, her eyes as big as saucers."

"And what then?" Gurok asked over his shoulder, amusement clear in his tone. "Elune blinded her with light to preserve the purity of her eyes?"

"Well, if he is to be believed, that moonwell was soon defiled when some remarkably improper acts took place within its waters," he chuckled. "But I find I prefer the account of his undead friend- who saw the troll sprinting from the forest, naked from the waist down, a slew of kal'dorei slinging arrows and spells after him."

The warrior shook his head and grinned. "Yes, let's steer clear of them," he said lightly, though his thoughts were a shade grimmer.

Tensions had always run high here, ever since orcs had first stepped into the wood. He recalled the tavern tales that had made him reach for stiffer drinks when he was young- stories of scouting parties finding unlucky peons strung up by their feet, their throats and groins pricked with half a dozen arrows courtesy of the forest's fierce protectors, or tusked heads left impaled in the branches of the trees they sought to fell.

No, they would be better off giving every moonwell a generously wide berth. He was good with an axe, and Arastel was better with his daggers, but a pack of the prowling elves could be the death of them.

"There was also the battle…" the elf reminded him after a lull of silence. Gurok felt warm breath on the back of his neck, heavy as the rogue sighed.

"Yes," the orc agreed, his voice growing tight. It had not been so long ago that the Warchief had marched hundreds of soldiers to certain victory in Ashenvale and returned with a significantly smaller host. Gurok had heard that the destruction had been immense, and what had already been a hostile region was now an unforgiving warzone.

"I think we should cling to the mountains," Arastel suggested some time later while they crept through a boulder-strewn pass. "Keep them at our backs."

"I would like to do that," the warrior agreed, nodding. But the terrain wouldn't always allow for it, he knew. "Though there will be times we will need to venture deeper into the wood. I wish we still had the map," he sighed as he rolled his shoulders, his anxiety growing as they ventured up a sloping hill.

A few vultures heralded their arrival to a forest of charred trees, their hunched figures looming in the stubby black branches above. Swiftpaw let out a low rumble of a growl that set them cawing angrily, her fur bristling beneath her riders.

The orc patted her side and urged her onward, and once through a narrow trail carved through low, weathered mountains, they found themselves on the edge of Ashenvale.

They approached the great forest in silence, awed and intrigued by the towering trees- and suspicious of what lurked in them. The warrior bore her to the right, wary of the night elf camp he recalled being nearby from all those years ago.

Swiftpaw's steps were silent as she padded through the first, sparse fringes of the forest. The grasses grew dark and lush, and the light was dimmed by the rich blue and purple leaves. Everything seemed hushed and hazed, an eternal dawn or dusk… the closest thing he could compare it to was Zangarmarsh, but the great swamp of Draenor did not stir such unsettling feelings of apprehension in him.

"I had desperately desired to make it to Ashenvale in a timely manner," the orc murmured, glancing up and around at the deep violet canopy, "but now that I am here…"

"It is deceptively peaceful," Arastel agreed, his burning green eyes shifting as he scanned the tangled thickets around them. "Let us find food and water quickly," he added. "I feel barely well enough to wield a blade, and the kal'dorei have the strength of beasts."

"Yes," Gurok said with a nod, thinking again of the blood that had been drawn here, that had fed the roots of the massive trees. "I doubt if I could hit deer in the broad of its side right now," he admitted, his tremulous hands gripping the reigns as tight as he could. "I think… it may be time for a certain master of snares to work his magic."

Arastel made a pleased, flattered sound and the orc felt him sit up eagerly in the saddle. "That much I can do. I assume you are somewhat familiar with the plant life here?"

The warrior nodded and grunted an affirmative. "I know enough to keep us from eating anything poisonous," he muttered.

Once they had made it some distance into the territory, they found an outcropping ringed by foliage and undergrowth and made their camp beneath it. Gurok prepared a quick meal of some nuts he had discovered as they camouflaged their little hideaway; he sliced through each dark, smooth shell until the pale meat within was exposed, then roasted them on a cautiously low fire.

They ate the half-cooked nuts hastily, and once invigorated by the meager meal, they made their goodbyes to Swiftpaw and then went their separate ways to resupply themselves.

While the elf headed deeper into the forest to set his traps, Gurok stayed close rocky edge of the mountains. Not far from their camp, a stream poured down the face of a cliff, cascading into a clear pool with a mossy bed; he took both of their empty waterskins to fill them while Arastel hunted.

The water tasted as cool and clean as it looked, and the dusty orc didn't even have to consider whether or not he was going to take a dip. A grateful sigh escaped him as he waded into the pond, the chilled mountain water lapping at his dry knees.

Gurok glanced down and caught his reflection among the ripples. Even distorted like this, he could tell he looked haggard and unkempt. He rubbed his chin and felt the coarse beard taking root, caked with mud and dirt; his hair had grown out a little further as well, the dark mane just long enough to tangle and knot now, apparently.

With a disgusted snort, the orc stalked back to camp and grabbed his sharpest dagger as he dropped off the filled waterskins. He scanned the rocky ground on the way back to the little pond, scowling until he spotted the twisted, rootlike protrusion he was looking for- Boar's Tongue, a cousin of earthroot.

He sliced it open, cracking the dirt-covered, brown skinned tuber apart until the gummy white insides began to seep out. It would not serve him as well as tallow soap, but it would have to do.

The warrior sloshed back into the pond, tearing off his stained and soiled clothing until he stood naked in the waist-deep water. He placed himself under the waterfall, sighing as it soaked him from head to toe. He cracked an eye open and noticed that the water around him had turned a cloudy grey-brown from his filth.

Gurok scrubbed himself first, spreading the pulpy mash from the root over his skin and then rubbing until he felt raw. More than once he winced as he discovered minor wounds that he had not previously noticed, or when he accidentally pressed too hard against the fresh scars from Feralas. Mud had dried to him for so long that it had to be scraped off, and thick-crusted scabs left his green skin bumped and ridged.

When at last he felt scoured clean, the orc dabbed his chin and cheeks with a little of the gummy root and carefully dragged the blade across his skin. It wasn't a close shave, especially without a mirror to guide him, but he felt satisfied as he ran his fingertips over his significantly smoother jaw afterward.

Next he worked the Boar's Tongue through his hair, which hung to the nape of his neck when wet. His fingers got caught in the dense little knots and he cursed as he struggled to pull through them. He had always kept his head shaved or close cropped for exactly this reason.

"Not for much longer," he muttered to himself as he picked up the dagger again and considered his reflection, trying to devise a way to be certain he would leave no unsightly patches of hair.

"You're not really going to cut it off, are you?"

Gurok jolted at the sound, immediately taking a defensive stance with the dagger.

At the sight of the blond elf's amused grin and arched eyebrow, the orc crouched down in the water until it lapped at his shoulders, flustered as he tried to cover himself without nicking his nethers with the knife.

"I've seen you naked before," Arastel laughed as he paced around the edge of the pond. The warrior thought he looked akin to a great cat of the Barrens prowling around a treed prey animal.

"I'm not ready," Gurok said at once.

"Not _ready_?" the rogue asked with a laugh. He glanced around himself and then spread his arms wide, as if to remind his companion that he was the lone observer.

"Not… presentable. Go back to the camp," he urged, sinking down until the water came up just below his nose. A floating pond lily bumped into his tusk and he blew bubbles into the water to push it away.

"You look fine," Arastel assured him, his grin giving way to a kinder, warmer smile. "You always look fine."

The orc snorted, sending a spray of water arcing over the surface.

The elf frowned and pursed his lips. "Don't be like that. And besides," he added, glancing down at his own dusty, mud-streaked body, "I'm the one who's looking rather unpresentable at the moment. Did you make soap?" he asked, gesturing to the pale pulp streaked through the orc's hair.

"It's just an herb. It'll do a decent job at cleaning," the warrior said as he waded toward the bank where the other half of the Boar's Tongue sat perched atop a rock. He scooped up the oozing tuber and pinched a portion of the inner pulp between his thumb and forefinger. "It's-"

Gurok glanced back up just in time to see the elf finish slipping out of his pants and throw them over a low hanging tree branch with the rest of his clothes. He pointedly stared back down at the root, a blush creeping over his whole body as he sank back down into the water in an attempt to conceal the growing evidence of his arousal.

"I'd like to wash our clothes as well," Arastel said, making almost no sound as he stepped into the small pond, "but I'm not in love with the idea of walking around this place naked while we wait for them to dry," he said with a little shudder. "I saw a spider web the size of a _kodo_ while I was out laying traps."

The orc nodded and stepped back, giving the rogue a wide berth as he approached the little waterfall.

"Are you… avoiding me?" the elf asked with an impish grin. He laughed as he piled his blond locks atop his head and then let the falling stream soak them through, emerald eyes trained on the warrior as he bobbed and drifted a constant arm's length away.

"I thought you might want some privacy," Gurok muttered.

Arastel gave him a coy smile. "Hand me that… whatever you called it," he said, sticking out an open palm. As the orc shuffled closer, he continued, saying, "If I'd wanted _privacy_, I wouldn't have joined you."

Gurok mulled those words over as he passed the Boar's Tongue to the elf. He thought of the kiss the night before, thought of the elf _now_, his golden skin bare and glinting with clear water, his scars on full display. No daggers, no leather, no poison-tipped needles- just Arastel, smiling even as he shivered from the chilled stream.

The orc took a tentative step closer, and then another, until less than a foot separated them.

Arastel grinned approvingly as he rinsed the lather from his hair and shoulders. "Now, just because it's all tangled up doesn't mean you have to cut it off," he said as he drifted closer to the warrior. A thin hand snaked up his chest and around to the back of his neck, the nimble fingers working themselves into the knots in his thick hair. "All it needs is a little time."

The orc smiled broadly as the rogue pressed close against him, both of his slender but well-muscled arms looped around his neck now. He relaxed within the space of a heartbeat, a sigh escaping his slightly parted lips as he almost floated, his toes the only thing touching the blanket of moss at the bottom of the pond.

The gentle lapping of the pond waters would push them together, only for the same small waves to slowly drift them back apart. The warrior pulled in a quick breath each time he felt the elf's heat press briefly against him.

"See?" the rogue murmured by his ear, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. Gurok felt fingers run fluidly through his short locks, twisting and teasing them.

"You like it better this way?" the orc asked, his thick brows rising. "You disliked it before?"

"I didn't dislike it," Arastel said at once. "I just… I like this," he said with a shrug, still threading his fingers through dark hair. "I wonder what you'd look like with it all grown out."

"Old," Gurok said with a frown.

"You wouldn't," the rogue scoffed, his thumb now smoothing over the creases on the orc's forehead.

"Like vermin have nested on my head- it'll get matted and knotted the second I step outside on a windy day," the warrior complained.

"Not if you keep it braided or tied back," the elf argued.

"I haven't the patience to do my hair each morning," Gurok protested.

"You are the most patient man I have ever known, orc or otherwise," the elf said dryly, his eyes going sharp as he studied the warrior. "What are you about?"

The orc just shrugged sullenly. "I have… always had it that way, shaved or close-cut. Since my father died," he added, because it seemed like that helped explain it, even if he had never thought of his father as he had a childhood's worth of hair sheared off.

Arastel made a soft noise as he cupped Gurok's face and touched his lips to the orc's broad jaw. "As you like it, Gurok. I remain attracted to you either way," he said with a soft smile. He embraced the thick-trunked warrior before unwinding himself and treading backward. "I was only curious at how you would look, a dark mane of that sinfully thick hair falling to your shoulders. Forgive me- I am an elf, and hair is something we consider much."

Gurok rumbled lowly as the elf paddled around him in circles.

"And I might like having something to grab a hold of," the rogue added with an innocent smile.

The orc licked his teeth as he considered that. He had liked the feel of those slender fingers as they tugged through his hair, making his scalp tingle. "Fine. I will do this thing for you. But I have never been deft with braiding, and it has been some fifteen years since I even had to bother with tying it up. I will need your help."

"I will weave blossoms of peacebloom into your locks each morning," the elf promised as he did a backstroke and crossed the tiny pond in two kicks.

"You will do no such thing," Gurok said with exaggerated sternness. "The Warsongs would think my scent that of a night elf and shoot me on the spot."

"Warsongs," the elf muttered as he leisurely stood and slowly wrung out his hair, the pale golden strands turned a dark honey by the water. "We would do well to avoid them also," he said, concern making his eyes grow distant and his lips bend in a frown.

The warrior nodded. The swiftest way to proceed would be to ghost through the forest without coming into contact with either side of the conflict here. He knew from experience that wandering too close to a lumber camp would likely lead to having a weapon shoved in your hands and a Warsong bellowing to go chop trees or elves, whichever you came upon first.

But thoughts of Warsongs and kal'dorei drifted away for a moment as he watched Arastel finish washing himself. Slim hands slid over narrow shoulders and equally slender hips- he was small for an elf, as most rogues tended to be- drawing the orc's eye down to his waist and then back up as he gathered up his damp hair and twisted it atop his head. _Small, but strong_, he thought as the elf's compact muscles stretched and coiled as he bathed.

He was freckled all over, with heavy dappling across his shoulders and arms and a lighter, sparser smattering scattered down his back and hips. And pale scars wove themselves about him like vines, wrapping his limbs and torso and neck.

Gurok eased behind him, drawn close by the scars that sprawled across his shoulderblades. His hand felt hot against the elf's skin as he smoothed his palm over the faintly raised ribbons of pale flesh. They were not scars as he was familiar with, made by the glancing blow of a sword or the jagged bite of a beast.

The orc frowned at their fluidity. There was a pattern to it, an intent behind the resewn flesh, though he could not make it out.

"It reads 'thief'," the rogue told him, turning his head to look back over his shoulder. "In Thalassian."

"Is this how the guardsmen of Silvermoon do their justice?" the orc asked. He was angry on Arastel's behalf without understanding why- a scar in a pretty script was no heinous punishment. He himself had taken off the fingers of thieves, or broken them, or cut away the whole hand, depending on the severity of the theft. _But I always feel differently when it comes to him,_ he thought, recalling the night they'd first met as guard and pickpocket.

"Not guardsmen," he said, putting the warrior's indignation to rest- a little, at least. He turned to face the orc, a sigh on his lips. "This is the lesson of bandits and cut-throats. I learned it at a young age, thankfully, and they let me go with a simple reminder: do not steal from your fellow rogues. They are not as kind to repeat offenders."

"What did you steal? A pair of authentic Mag'har axes? Bleeding crescents, maybe?" he asked with a slight quirk of his lips.

Arastel rolled his eyes at the jibe and waded closer. He laid his hands against the orc's chest, palms sliding over his water-slicked skin. "It was a necklace, if you must know," he said. "Fine gold chains dripping with emeralds. So delicate," he said wistfully. "It looked like some sort of lace, a golden web covered in sparkling dew."

"A necklace," Gurok stated as he gently took the rogue by his slender hips and pulled him closer, the sliver of a gap between them vanishing- along with any doubt as to how aroused he was.

"A necklace," the elf groaned in reply. He made a low noise in the back of his throat as the warrior held him tight and swayed, a hint of something dark and devious appearing in his eyes as they slid against one another. "It would have made the perfect gift. Yet another instance in which my nimble fingers got carried away."

"They must not have been so nimble back then, if you got caught," Gurok said against his ear. _Such long, delicate ears he has_, he thought as he dragged his lips up the side of his sweetly curved jaw, uncertain of when he became so attracted to something as unassuming as an _ear_. His tusks scraped soft, freckled skin as he ran his tongue over the bronze stud that decorated the rogue's earlobe.

He felt the elf's impish grin more than he saw it, soft lips and hard teeth flush against his collarbone.

"Just so. But these hands have certainly grown… _dexterous_ over the years," Arastel murmured as his slender arm snaked between the press of their bodies, the fingers of his free hand already weaving through the orc's thick, dark hair.

* * *

They left early the next morning, stomachs filled with rabbit meat and the rich, dark purple berries that Gurok had gathered. The rabbits had been as plump as the fruit, their roasted meat dripping with fat and, in the orc's case, tangy blood. For all its perils, Ashenvale's somber forest at least offered rich plantlife, plentiful game, and clean water.

They traveled on foot, agreeing that it would be easier to stay concealed without the giant wolf's presence, if a bit slower going without her loping stride to carry them.

Gurok almost didn't mind their crawling pace as they picked through vine-strewn boulders and dense thickets, though he knew he should. Eyes could be upon them even now, arrows nocked as archers followed them, nightsabers hot on their trail.

The elf before him didn't seem to have any problem keeping his attention on the journey at hand. He wasn't the Arastel from last night, not right now. He was Arastel the rogue, Arastel the assassin, silent and sinuous as he crept through the shadows of the behemoth-trees.

But as the minutes turned to hours, Gurok found himself more and more distracted by lingering thoughts of the elf's warm, soft tongue and his deft touch. Guilt warmed his cheeks as his imaginings grew progressively more lewd. He had let a hundred such fantasies cross his mind during long shifts at the Hold, but after the evening prior they were more potent than ever…

The orc grunted quietly as he tripped over a gnarled root as he lumbered after the quick-footed rogue. He gripped his axe more tightly and glared down at the earth.

"Is this the right way?" Gurok asked, his pace slowing as he glanced up at the towering trees around them. Moss grew on all sides of the trees here, and each seemed as indistinct as the next.

"Let's just keep moving," the elf said instead, avoiding the orc's questioning gaze as he slipped back into his low stalk.

The warrior frowned, unease brewing in the pit of his stomach. Ashenvale was not a place he wanted to be lost in. They passed kal'dorei ruins, copses thick with the lingering scent of fel energy, trees thick with strands of sticky white spider's silk, webs that stretched twenty feet high and ten across.

Once they even came across a writhing mass of the shiny strands and reluctantly slit the silken cocoon open. The young human bound within had been kept too long, his skin mottled yellow and his eyes unseeing; he had no sense that they were even there, and his movement was born more out of pain and jerking spasms than any effort to be freed.

Gurok pushed his dagger between the unfortunate man's ribs, setting him still at last with one swift thrust into his heart.

The silence between them took on a grim air after that. Between the threats of the kal'dorei, Hatoof, and the creatures lurking in the forest, Gurok was forced to wonder how likely their chances were of making it through relatively unscathed.

There were satyr, too, Arastel reminded him when they chanced across a cloven hoofprint along the trail, too large to have been left by a deer.

_Satyr_. Strange and twisted elves, horned and furred and prone to using dark magics. Was there any shortage of enemies in this place?

He followed closely at Arastel's heels, periodically checking over his shoulder while the elf surveyed the way ahead. His thoughts again slipped to Arastel's wickedly skilled mouth and hands and how _gratifying_ it had been after such a long drought. Gurok wanted nothing more than to spirit himself and the elf somewhere far away and _safe_, out of the reach of hunters and warring elves; somewhere they could spend days and nights abed, lost to everything but each other.

But that was useless wishing and insatiable longing, and Arastel the rogue couldn't run away anymore, not even with Gurok. Not until this was done.

The forest light was dim no matter what, but the canopy seemed especially thick here. The shadows put Arastel more at ease, giving him places to creep through and hide, but to Gurok they were an endless source of anxiety. Each seemed to promise some horrible and inglorious death- a lurking spiders' nest, a host of elves, a den of bears or wolves. And the faint glow of the wisps… that was among the most unnerving of the forest's sights.

The rogue suddenly stopped in his tracks and Gurok followed suit, his chest tightened with apprehension.

Arastel stalked over to a tree trunk that was as thick around as a kodo's barrel chest and peered at two arrows that stuck haphazardly from it.

"Hatoof's?" the warrior asked apprehensively.

"No… kal'dorei," the elf replied, looking troubled. He wrenched one from the tree and examined the silvery blue shaft, his thumb running back and forth over the wood. "Let's move on."

Gurok was forced to wonder. _How long have those arrows been here? Why had they been loosed?_

They found no other signs of the night elves, or of any struggle, though none of that set the orc at ease.

Arastel picked his way through the undergrowth, his pace slower and less certain. The orc ambled after, as silent as his heavy feet and hulking bulk could be. Gurok tried to step where the rogue had, though Arastel left little to go by.

The forest looked much the same as ever, with its trees that stretched to the sky and leave-strewn earth. Gurok was on the verge of asking again whether they were truly headed east when he walked into a vine stretched taut between two tree trunks, just at chin-level.

The orc didn't see the log swing toward him, that thick ironwood battering ram hanging from braided vines.

But he did hear the sudden rush of wind as it gained momentum, the groan of the branches above him; he felt the sudden pain that seemed to ripple and bounce through every inch of him as he was thrown sideways, enveloped in an inky darkness that seemed to swallow him whole as he fell.

"Gurok?"

The dark was distressing, but the pain was _worse_. His shoulder throbbed with every beat of his heart; his bones cried out as though a blacksmith was hammering away at them.

"Gurok, you can't lie here forever."

He awoke blearily at the sound of the familiar voice, drinking in the sight of eyes the color of dark walnut and a splotched coat of reddish-brown and white.

"Dala," he murmured, the name half a question. His lips and tongue felt heavy and dry, as if woolen.

She had died in Northrend. Her returning tribesmen had hung their heads when they said there was no body to return to the Earth Mother. She had been lost to the cold north for years now, nothing more than a warm memory in the hearts of those that knew her.

Yet she was _here_. _Now_.

"Gurok!" she replied with a laugh as rich and sweet as in all of his memories, her thick auburn braids swaying in the breeze. Behind her was the clear sky of Mulgore, with its tall dark pines and firs that seemed to scrape against the vast expanse of blue. "Come now, time to stand. Happy as the Earth Mother is to hold you close, you are needed on your feet."

"I cannot," the orc gasped weakly. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, melded to the earth beneath him; he could lay there forever, letting the grasses and vines overtake him, he thought. Everything was infused with the pounding ache that radiated from his shoulder, though he could not think of any reason it should hurt so sorely.

"Do you remember the time you tried to catch me that porcupine?" she asked as she brushed his newly grown hair back from his forehead.

Gurok laughed lowly, the pain half forgotten for a moment. "You plucked the quills from my hands for over an hour."

She smiled at him, loving and… sad. He had never seen her eyes filled with such tender sorrow. Her three-fingered hands found his, covering them as he gripped the earth with clawlike fingers, his nails digging into the soft Mulgore grasses.

At her touch, Gurok felt the rigidity ebb from his hands. They loosened their fevered, viselike grip and slowly he felt himself freed. He could arch his back, flex his toes, and turn his head. A little strength returned to him then.

The young tauren woman helped him to stand, bracing his body as he struggled to find his feet.

"You are as strong as I remembered," he muttered against her ear, smiling. She was _everything_ that he remembered, right down to the way her ears fluttered against the wind. Gurok could have wept then and there to see her like this, whole, rather than the gnawed bones or shambling corpse that he was sadly certain she had become.

"And you have grown even stronger," she said, leaning back to get a better look at him. "I see new scars," she added, her tone an even blend of approval and grief.

"As long as I keep at least one eye to see them with, I cannot complain," he said with a faint smile.

"You and your scars." The tauren woman sighed, the sound as forlorn as wind whistling through winter-dead trees. "Would that I could stop you gaining more," she said with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

One of her small, furred ears twitched and she cocked her head, as if listening to the endlessly empty fields around them. "No more dawdling here," she murmured, straightening out his clothing and smoothing back unruly strands of his dull black hair. "He needs you."

"Dala…"

But she was already gone, and so was verdant Mulgore.

He was sitting up, though still disoriented by the dream and jarred by his new surroundings. All around him was a cage fashioned of the dark, silvery-blue wood of Ashenvale. The beams were narrow, thinner than his wrist; lumber here was famously tough and sturdy, but even so…

Gurok believed he could snap through this feeble prison easily enough.

"Don't touch it!" Arastel shrieked from the tiny wooden cage beside him, his face drawn as he eyed the green hand hovering near the cool-hued wood. "That powder will burn you straight to the bone," he added hurriedly, his voice quavering.

Gurok looked closer and spied the faint dusting of brackish yellow powder clinging to the bars. He drew himself up tighter, suddenly wary of how close the walls seemed to press against him.

"Not so clever afta all, eh?" the troll hunter sneered, his form suddenly separating itself from the dappled forest. His blue skin was streaked with purple pigment and smoky charcoal, his hair weaved with vines and lavender leaves. "I figured dey be givin' ya too much credit, jus' like dey always did wit him," he spat, jerking his head in Arastel's direction.

Hatoof's lip curled around his tusk as he stared down at the orc through his latticework prison, the dark smear of charcoal under his eyes giving him a haunted look. "Didn' tink ya'd survive, though," he admitted. "But I be glad of it. Almost _happy_ dat I didn' have time ta carve spikes inta dat trap. What good'd ya be skewered on dat log?" he asked with a smile that left his eyes cold.

"Hatoof, listen," the elf said evenly. "Arc-"

"No, you listen ta me now!" the hunter snarled, whirling on the rogue's prison and lunging within inches of the incendiary laced bars. "You a viper among snakes, Sunsworn. An' don' ya _dare_ open ya treacherous mouth ta me about _anyting_."

"I'm sorry," Arastel said suddenly, as if it was his last chance to say his piece to the troll. Perhaps it was. He buried his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Hatoof. I was-"

"Oh, ya gonna be sorry alright," the troll hissed, and his panther raised its head and growled from where it lay nearby. "When I get through wit ya boyfriend dere, ya gonna know _exactly_ how I felt." The troll swallowed audibly as he stared the two down.

The rogue made a soft, plaintive noise, jaw working as though he meant to summon some plea or argument.

"Dis be for her," Hatoof announced, his brown-red eyes burning as he glared at the elf. He turned and walked some twenty paces away and casually took his bow in hand. He made a show of picking through his quiver for an arrow, finally withdrawing a yellow-stemmed one with a menacingly barbed tip.

He notched it and languidly took aim at Gurok, who could now hear the thudding of his own heart in his ears.

The arrow sang as it flew toward him, passing through one of the many gaps in the wooden bars. The orc leapt to the side, wondering at why the shot had been so wide even as he did so.

His shoulder suddenly screamed in agony, consumed in a fire that seemed to saw through his skin and muscle like a serrated blade. He fell to his knees as he clutched helplessly at his upper arm, unable to do anything but watch as the criss-cross pattern continued to sink into his flesh, eating and burning its way down closer to the bone.

Over Arastel's frustrated and angered wails, over his own pained grunts, Gurok dimly registered the low, menacing laugh of the troll.

"Dat fel dust ain' easy ta come by, but I tink it was worth the trouble," Hatoof said as he notched another wicked looking arrow.

The warrior swallowed thickly as he realized the game here- be pin cushioned by arrows or eaten at by the acidic powder that laced his prison bars. To avoid one would almost certainly subject him to the other... but which was worse?

He scrambled back to his feet and positioned himself in the center of the cage, determined to take an arrow before touching the treacherous powder again. Even now the pain made him dizzy, the devouring heat of the yellowed dust cutting through any ache that remained from the swinging log trap.

"Hatoof," Arastel pleaded from his cage. "_I_ am the one that wronged you. _I_ killed her. I made her suffer," he said in a thin voice, his tearful gaze lingering on Gurok's blackened, char-smelling shoulder. "You waste your arrows on him. Kill me instead."

The hunter scoffed, his dark eyes narrowed as he stalked a little closer to the pair. "I can't kill ya, Sunsworn, much as I'd like ta," he spat. "Arcelia gets ya. But dis… no, dis be a gift from whatever loa done saw what ya did ta my Salesha. Blood for blood," he growled, his gaze returning to the orc.

The next arrow burrowed into the orc's thigh, tearing through flesh and lodging its barbed tip in the bone.

Gurok doubled over, his breath coming in noisy gasps as he felt the sting of some bitter poison bring the wound alive, each beat of his heart renewing the pain as his muscles tensed around the jagged-edged arrowhead and were torn asunder.

"Da fel dust don' seem quite so bad now, does it?" Hatoof chortled, a savage gleam in his eye. "No, friend. I ain' gonna make dis easy on ya. Dese arrows ain' dat fodder dat Orgrimmar grunts and common bandits use. Dey're… special," he said, running his thumb along the flat of an arrowhead fondly. "Ya gonna be throwin' yaself on dem cage bars soon enough. Ya gonna let da dust eat through ya skin until ya guts pour out. An' he's gonna watch," he said with a wicked smile, glancing back to Arastel.

The elf shook his head at the orc imprisoned beside him, his cheeks stained with tears.

"Get up, orc," the hunter said lazily, already taking aim. "Or I start usin' da dust-tipped arrows _now_."

"She deserved it," Arastel said suddenly, making both Hatoof and the orc swivel their heads in his direction. "A liar, a filthy betrayer. She sold us out- all of us out- to the city guard. Even you," he spat, his eyes only for the hunter. "The slut _used_ you, you maggot-brained troll."

There was a bite and a cruelty in his words that took Gurok by surprise. Amid the smell of his flesh, burned and tinged with the fel, it seemed almost out of some nightmare of Draenor- Arastel had never had such venom in his voice.

"Shut ya mouth, ya two-faced bastard," the troll growled, taking aim at Arastel instead.

The pain seemed to writhe through Gurok like a host of fiery maggots, burrowing ever deeper, distracting him from Arastel's fresh peril. He groaned and held a shaky hand to his shoulder; a clear sort of blood dripped from the deep canals gouged into his flesh by the fel dust, and it _still burned_- his very marrow felt aflame.

"Arcelia came and watched parts of it," the rogue continued, a sneer plastered in place. He hunched forward, his face inches from the bars of his prison. "She interrogated her while I peeled her apart-"

Hatoof roared as he let the next arrow fly, the razor edge of it nicking the side of the elf's neck as he dodged deftly to the side.

The troll raged in Zandali, rapidly stringing another arrow and loosing it at Arastel's face. It scraped him even as he ducked, leaving a gash across the top of his head that quickly sprang with brilliantly crimson blood, his golden hair dripping and matted within moments.

"She never said your name, never begged for you. You were as much a monster to her as any of us," Arastel said, his voice weaker now. He struggled to stay in his crouch, his balance thrown off as he swayed from whatever poison had coated the arrowhead.

Hatoof was snarling, driven into a frenzy by the words. Any thought of sparing Arastel for Arcelia's sake was long beyond forgotten, and Gurok was chilled to realize it. The troll was making ready to shoot again when a sudden, soft _thwap_ took all of them by surprise.

Three sets of eyes came to rest on Hatoof's chest, where a silvery-blue stemmed arrow jutted, the shaft half buried between his ribs.

A fierce roar in Darnassian accompanied the next few arrows that whistled toward the troll, who immediately stumbled behind a tree for cover. He leaned out and began loosing arrows at the advancing night elves while his panther silently rolled onto its feet and coiled, giving no warning before launching itself at one of the elves and latching onto her neck as it bore her to the ground.

Gurok glanced back to find a fierce kal'dorei surging toward him on her nightsaber charger, a polearm with a wickedly curved blade in hand.

The great cat plowed into his wooden prison just as the orc flattened himself against the earth, covering his head against the falling debris. His skin sizzled and burned where flecks of the dust scattered atop him, but his pain was nothing compared to the nightsaber and his rider- the large-fanged cat roiled on the ground as fur and flesh blackened and burned away, pinning his screaming rider beneath him while she grasped desperately at her rapidly disfiguring thigh.

Quick as a viper's strike, another of the elves was on him, her short-handled axe nearly slicing through his stomach as he rose and leapt backward.

She sprang closer, her axe held high, and Gurok let out an angry, pained snarl as he dropped onto his back and thrust his foot up into her chest. The elf grunted in pain, but to her credit- and the orc's dismay- her grip on the weapon only tightened.

The kal'dorei threw herself forward, but the warrior was able to grab her wrists as she made to bury the axe in his face, gripping both in one large, green-skinned hand. He felt a bead of sweat trail down the side of his forehead as he struggled against her weight bearing down against him. His shoulder still screamed as though burning maggots festered within it, and his whole body ached from the bone-crunching blow of the troll's trap…

Gurok quickly mustered his flagging strength and gave the elf a good shove, trading his grip on her arms and weapon for the chance to wrench the arrow from his thigh. He howled as it pulled free from the bone while she was still stumbling backward, feeling a good bit of flesh come loose with the barbed tip.

The orc held the bloodied arrow as though it was a knife, and when the night elf bore down on him again, he ducked under the wide arc of her swing and slashed the tip across her leather-clad belly.

It didn't cut nearly as cleanly as he would have hoped, the jagged metal tearing at the skin beneath messily but leaving no mortal or maiming wound.

Before the kal'dorei could bring that axe back down for another try, though, Arastel was on her, a golden blur as he plunged a dagger into the crook of her elbow; her hand spasmed and the axe fell, and all she could do was gurgle as he slit her throat from ear to ear.

Three of the night elf warriors lay dead or dying- one pierced through her slender throat by a spade-tipped arrow, another feverishly groaning underneath her still nightsaber, and the axe-bearer bleeding out before them. The other kal'dorei seemed to have pursued Hatoof and his pet deeper into the wood.

"Are you alright?" the elf asked, his question seemingly forgotten as he pulled the orc closer to examine him himself, his bloodied hands hovering anxiously over the deep burns.

Gurok nodded, though he wasn't honestly certain. He felt feverish, he felt _weak_. He wondered if his shoulder would ever work the same again. "The cage- are you?"

"I'm fine," Arastel said, already grabbing things from around the camp- one of Gurok's axes, a bag of supplies, a knapsack. But his hair was matted with blood, singed off in clumps and the ends uneven, and the tip of one of his ears had blistered and bled. "We must go now. I do not trust that the other two managed to kill him, and we need to be far before he returns. He is maddened, he will snipe us both down now," he said nervously as he tried to wipe the blood that kept dripping into his eyes.

_If we thought the troll merciless before, what could his wrath be now?_ Gurok wondered. He took a step and swayed on his feet. Arastel steadied him and then grabbed his wrist and they were off, with him thundering behind the elf like a kodo fleeing the hunt.

Gurok couldn't keep up. Any pain he had felt in Feralas paled before this. His thigh burned like hot coals had been wedged underneath his skin, and with every step he grew shakier. Twice he stumbled and fell, and both times he knew he would not have risen again had the elf not crouched below and half-pushed him back onto his feet.

He could almost hear the Southfury now, he thought. And just beyond it lay Azshara. But their pace had slowed to a limping lope, and the orc had no idea how they could manage to cross the furious river in this state.

Without a hint of warning, Arastel was upon him. The little elf grabbed him fiercely around the neck and threw his meager weight to the ground, just managing to pull the feeble orc down with him.

The cruel whistle of an arrow sang above them just then, followed by a deep curse in Zandali.

"Craven little cowards," the troll bit out as he staggered from the shadow of a great tree some forty paces away. Waiting here, perhaps, knowing they could only be fleeing one way. "I'll kill ya, Sunsworn," he managed to gasp, though Gurok wondered how- blood was streaming from the side of his neck, and from his missing ear, as well as from a wound in his side. "'S about time da executioner caught up wit ya."

Arastel had clambered over him protectively, his slender form barely hiding any of his bulk at all, but Gurok was too weak to shove him away. He groaned and twisted, desperate to end the rogue's folly and at least let him escape; but before Hatoof could so much as raise his bow again, an arc of lightning cut through the wood, setting it alight with a blue-white glow.

Hatoof's body contorted and twisted grotesquely as the current ran through him, the stench of burned hair and flesh immediately flooding the air. The lightning disappeared with a sharp crackle, and he fell to the earth like a stag shot to the heart, knees buckling and body sagging. He writhed and twitched amongst the dead leaves as though some current still ran through him.

"It would seem Lady Arcelia called it right," the dark-furred tauren woman said as she stepped down from the levee behind them. The bells and glittering chains wrapped around her horns jangled with each step. "Bind them both. See to it that Sunsworn's wounds are tended to," she barked to the green-skinned troll and the goblin that accompanied her.

Hatoof groaned weakly from where he lay, earning him a contemptuous sneer from the shaman.

"Mishal," the hunter spat, his face twisted in agony as he glared at her, his fury and agony clear even at this distance. "Ya traitorous bitch."

She shook out her mane and snorted, amusement clear in her stance. "Traitor? _I_ am not the one that nearly killed the rogue we chased across all of Kalimdor. You let your old ties get the better of you, as Lady Arcelia feared."

The troll, with his rasping, labored breaths punctuating the silence, tilted his head in question.

Dark brown eyes took on a gleeful shine. "Your lack of loyalty has long been a concern for her. She is, _wisely_, rebuilding her ranks with the truly dedicated," the tauren said with pride, aglow that she belonged in that number. "She had expressed some hope that you might at least prove useful to the last, but… it would seem your loyalties still lie with that traitorous whore of yours," she said sourly.

"Salesha-"

"Lady Arcelia does not suffer the friends and fools of traitors to live. And you _are_ a fool. I will leave you to think on that," she muttered, turning to her two cronies. "Get them back to Orgrimmar."

Her brow furrowed as the troll and the goblin made no move to obey her. She glared suspiciously at Gurok and Arastel, who still lay entangled against the bank of the levee, their eyes wide as they stared up at the green-skinned pair that seemed frozen in time.

"I _said_ to bind them," Mishal huffed, hoisting up her kilt and pacing closer. Her face went slack with surprise as she grabbed the goblin by her long ear and found it cold to the touch; when she made to wrench the little goblin around, the tip of her ear simply snapped off in her hand.

Mishal barely had time to make a startled noise of disbelief before a sudden burst of violet light sent her flying up over the levee and tumbling down into the hungry, roaring waters of the Southfury, the shrill sound of arcane magic warping the very air accompanying her tumultuous fall.

"Damn it all, Valsann! I nearly had her-"

"If you had let _me_, I could have walked her right off-"

"Yes, because that plan has never backfired on us before," the first voice replied dryly.

"It's more effective than your idiotic little arcane explosions," Valsann bit back as he crested the top of the levee and gently levitated down. "I have seen undead with both eyes rotted out with better aim than you possess," he scoffed.

The mage descended the slope after him, his robes catching on the gnarled roots and twigs that littered the bank. "Then why don't you go shack up with _them_, if you're so keen on it," he hissed back. "Oh! Dear cousin," he greeted, striding closer to the pair huddled on the ground.

Arastel had yet to budge from his place as the orc's shield. "A-Andorel?" he asked in a tremulous voice.

"Oh. Oh, dear," the mage said quickly, his smile faltering as he began to note their wounds. "Valsann, hurry."

The priest floated over, still peering disdainfully at the terrain below him. "Is that… fel dust? I haven't seen that used outside of Silvermoon and Outland in quite some time," he said with a frown, his expression easily slipping into that of a concerned healer. He settled onto the ground and knelt beside them, light coursing through his hands as he worked to ameliorate their greatest pains- Gurok had sustained the worst wounds by far, and so it was he that Valsann fretted over the most.

Andorel's face was sternly set as he muttered another few spells, wrapping the troll and goblin lackeys in several more layers of ice before shattering them like glass.

Arastel watched it unflinchingly, his blood and dirt streaked face impassive. The soft sparkle cast by their green-tinted ice distracted him for a time, but then his attention slowly returned to the orc, who struggled to stifle his groans as the priest set to knitting his seared flesh back together.

"I can only do so much," Valsann said in between deep breaths, sweat beginning to dot his forehead.

Gurok nodded, his eyes slipping shut as he felt his rogue's fingers brush his brow. Another set of scars. He had received more in this last week than he had in a year in Outland. He glanced at his shoulder from the corner of his eye and sneered. These were _ugly_ scars, not left by the blade of an adversary or the bite of nature, but by a coward's weapon.

The warrior was surprised to see Arastel suddenly rise, swaying on his feet, and offer him a quiet apology. He was even more surprised to see him take wavering steps toward the crumpled troll laying some twenty yards away.

"Let me up," Gurok growled at once, pushing the priest away as he struggled to follow the elf. Some vipers bit and spat venom even after the head had been cut from the body- such was the danger Hatoof posed so long as he drew breath, no matter how weak he seemed.

"You aren't _well_, you big oaf," Valsann said irritably, immediately turning to complain to his mage as the orc stubbornly limped after Arastel.

"Arastel? Arastel?" the orc called. He grimaced as each successive step brought the fire back to his wounds.

But for the moment, the elf ignored him. He had only eyes for the troll with the pierced chest and the sluggishly bleeding neck and the burned skin, whose every breath seemed to come at great cost.

"Hatoof?" Arastel said quietly.

The hunter's eyes blinked open, rolling wildly until at last they seemed to focus on Arastel.

"I suppose… it be her doin' all along," he managed to say, bright blood beginning to bubble from his nose and mouth. "Her hand. She… killed Salesha and… I still took her orders, like a dumb beast," he said bitterly.

"We all had a habit of doing whatever she told us to," the elf agreed. He knelt beside the hunter, his hands curled uncertainly on his knees. Gurok watched it all warily, posing himself close enough to intervene should the troll lash out one final time.

"Bad habit, mon," Hatoof agreed. A swell of blood suddenly poured from his nose and he seemed to sense that time was short. Unshed tears welled up in the corners of the troll's yellow-tinged eyes.

"We have a priest," Arastel said hesitantly. He turned and called for Valsann. "He can… he can fix this," he assured the broken troll. Hesitantly, he knelt closer and pressed his hand over the troll's, helping to staunch the flow of blood from his neck.

Gurok had seen soldiers with lesser wounds perish under a healer's skilled hands. Amber eyes were hard as he looked down on the dying hunter. If he put _his_ hand on the troll's neck, it would be to close around it and throttle the life from him; still, he could not begrudge Arastel his sympathy, even if he felt the troll deserved nothing more than a shove into the river to join his shaman companion.

"No," the hunter croaked when Valsann drew near, shaking his head the barest bit. "I don'… I don' need it."

"But you're-"

"I neva' avenged her," Hatoof lamented, his words coming slower now, interspersed between wet, ragged breaths. "If ya be killin' Arcelia anyway… do it for Sal, too?"

Arastel nodded eagerly, murmuring a promise and an apology; it earned him a grateful sigh from the troll, who seemed to relax within the space of a breath.

The elf's gaze slid down to the hunter's body, where any unmarked flesh was either growing pale or mottled like a bruise. He frowned as he picked up a necklace of brightly colored wooden beads lying halfway underneath one of the troll's legs.

"I… recognize this," he said sadly, gingerly tucking the necklace into Hatoof's hand.

"It was hers," the hunter acknowledged, his eyes shutting as he nodded. "Leave me be, mon," he said quietly, one bloodshot eye creaking open to watch them leave.

The elf nodded curtly and rose to go, gesturing for Gurok to follow him. Valsann, who had been watching them all silently from just a few yards away, murmured something quietly in Thalassian.

Hatoof's panther had returned, silent as a shadow. It paced anxiously along the treeline until the troll beckoned it closer. A crimson-stained hand rubbed the cat affectionately behind the ears, then scratched under its chin as it licked at its master's blood.

The troll murmured softly to the panther, stroking its sleek fur with smaller and smaller movements until he stilled completely.

They were quiet, if the forest was not. Even Valsann kept his mouth shut, which Gurok was grateful for.

It was Arastel's voice that finally broke in among the flutterings and calls of the birds and insects. "Did you cast something on him?"

"There are spells to... to dull the pain of passing, yes," the priest said slowly. "He was not in so much agony."

Arastel's mouth thinned into a bare line as he looked off at Hatoof's remains. "See that he's burned, Andorel," he said somberly, glancing back at the mage over his shoulder.

His cousin nodded dutifully and stepped forward. He considered the pair for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Why don't you both accompany Valsann back home? You need more than just healing," he told them. "Rest and food and a few nights without any of… _this_," he said, gesturing to their haggard bodies and the hunter's corpse. "Just what the healer ordered, yes?"

Valsann nodded and began to herd them both away. "Yes, I'll not have either of you dying in my care."

"His panther's gone," Gurok noted, his voice sounding dry and gruff even to his own ears. He scanned the trees and forest warily as they limped along.

"Will Andorel be safe if it comes back?" the rogue questioned, glancing through the trees and up into their branches. "The beast may not take kindly to seeing its master in flames, dead or not."

"Andorel is capable of defending himself against some great cat, as well as any straggling kal'dorei," the priest scoffed, though he spared a concerned look back over his shoulder as he lead them away. "And you two are in such a sorry state that we have no choice but to whisk you home. Now hold hands as we cross the river, or the breeze might just gust you all the way down to Orgrimmar."

* * *

For all his snide words and insults, the elvish priest was more than a capable healer. With his stock of potions and draughts, he had put them to sleep for a day and a half while he carried out the most intensive of his work.

Gurok had awoken bleary-eyed and weak as a newborn pup, but his leg and shoulder felt mercifully cool and unscathed. A quick assessment assured the orc that he still _had_ all of his limbs, wilted as they might feel. His shoulder bore blackened scars in the uneven criss-cross pattern of the cage, and the flesh around the arrow wound in his thigh was puckered and tinged an unsightly brown, but all in all he felt grateful.

He was well, and Arastel was well- if a little battered and beaten, with his bruises and burns and singed bits of hair, though the worst of it had been sheared off. His ear plastered with salve, and the myriad little cuts and scrapes he'd received had been cleaned and bound.

But as physically restful as the stay in the elves' solitary cottage might have been, it was murder on the orc's mind.

Gurok felt uncomfortably out of place, largely because he had never belonged in any household where there were plates meant for holding cups or towels that served only as decoration. Even Arastel knew enough to function here, but the orc still fumbled with when to use a fork instead of a knife and how to avoid breaking the fine, delicately crafted furniture.

Valsann's scorn made him agonize over setting foot outside of the guestroom that had been turned into their ward as they recovered, and meals were probably the worst occasion of all.

Still, Gurok tried to let the little quips and dark looks roll off of him. He had faced graver threats than a snippy blood elf as of late, after all. In just over a week, he and Arastel had covered a distance that an adventurer might cross in a fortnight, all with danger and deprivation biting at their heels. Now the second half of their journey loomed before them, and it was a time for rest, a chance to recapture a little bit of comfort before they made for the Eastern Kingdoms.

That and _argue_ about how to go about doing it.

"I think it would be _safer_ if you traveled from Stonard," the mage repeated slowly, his gaze even as he measured honey for his tea. His hair was blond, but half a shade darker than Arastel's, and where his cousin's face was gentle and open, his own was angular and suggested haughtiness; still, for all his posturing and sly smiles, he wasn't half so unbearable as his lover, the priest.

"That could take weeks!" Arastel screeched. Gurok wasn't certain whether it was the elf's wounds or his close proximity to his relatives that had put him on edge, but his temper seemed desperately short lately.

Andorel sighed and cradled his chin, thumb stroking the immaculately trimmed goatee there. "As I knew you would say. In that case… the Undercity. But do not doubt that she will have eyes on the portals there."

"There are Kor'kron in the Undercity," Gurok piped up. The elves all gave him a cursory glance, and he went back to drinking the sickly sweet coffee that Valsann had served him in an impractically tiny cup and studying the stripes of the wallpaper.

"Kor'kron," the mage said thoughtfully. "Quite likely the _least_ of your worries, though still something to remain aware of. They have always been quite impervious to Arcelia's attempts to woo them. The abundance of warlocks holed up under those Light forsaken ruins, though…" he warned.

"Warlocks die as easy as priests and mages," the rogue said with a cutting grin.

"Not if they're already dead," Andorel chortled. "Go to slit their throat, and what do you find? Slimy grey flesh hanging from bone. They have no lifeblood to spill, cousin."

"Gurok will be with me. I can keep them distracted and disoriented long enough for him to smash their skulls into bone-flecked jam," he said with a shrug.

The warrior nodded, though in truth he was uncomfortable with the prospect of engaging warlocks and mages at all, especially within the bowels of the Undercity.

"Alright, enough talk of rotting flesh and mashed brains," the dark-haired priest said as he swept into the dining room with a silver tray carrying four small porcelain bowls. "I deal with enough mutilated bodies. No need to bring it up on my time off."

Valsann placed a bowl in front of each of them with great flourish, as proud of his latest dish as he had been of the eighteen to precede it.

It was a creamy pudding the color of the custards Gurok remembered seeing in the blood elf bakeries. He stirred it with the delicate, long-stemmed spoon, only to remember that the desert spoon was the short one above his saucer. He discreetly slid the long tea spoon under the table cloth and went back to poking through the gummy concoction.

There were tiny opaque bubbles in it that reminded him of fish roe, which he had heard that the elves prized for their parties. "Is this… caviar? In this?" he asked cautiously.

Valsann's laughter rang in the air, trailing off with a sigh that indicated what he thought of the orc's question. Andorel seemed amused, fighting a grin as he stared down into his own dish, while Arastel was slowly bending a fine silver spoon with his thumb.

"Caviar," the priest breathed, a hand held delicately to his side. "What a wit. You cut the perfect image of one of those feebleminded peons," he said snidely, a glint in his eye telling that he knew the warrior hadn't been jesting.

Gurok squirmed in his seat, feeling evermore out of place.

"Come off it, you ponce," Arastel said hotly. "As I recall,_you_ once spent a full five minutes arguing with a baker about why he had no sweetbreads for sale," he added, an amused snort escaping him.

"I had never- _I_ didn't get to eat veal or lamb in my youth," the priest said defensively. "And it is a very misleading thing to call the glands of an animal. I stand by that."

"Sweetbreads," Andorel murmured from behind his cup, his stare distant. "Why haven't you made _that_? Light, I haven't had them in ages. Do you remember aunt Clara's sweetbreads?" he asked Arastel.

The rogue nodded. "She fried them. Everything is better when it's been dunked in oil and butter," he said, shrugging as he spooned the bubbled-pudding into his mouth. "It's just a type of gelatin, Gurok," he told the orc, intentionally chewing open-mouthed. "All the rage with lowborn elves trying to put on airs."

Valsann reddened until he nearly matched the crimson of the wallpaper. "It was _imported_. All the way from Eversong."

"You'd have done better with fish roe," Arastel said as he pushed the little bowl away and laid his spoon down. "Come on, Gurok. I've half a mind to go catch us a decent meal."

The orc needed no further convincing. He stood so quickly that his knees knocked into the table and nearly flipped it over upon the mage and the priest.

He would have stayed to help right the tipped cups and vases, but Valsann's murderous glare had him even more eager to flee. Gurok muttered something apologetic and squeezed himself through the doorframe to hurry after his rogue.

* * *

He felt far more at ease here on the muddy bank of the little pond in the thicket beyond the house, Arastel beside him as they fished.

They managed to pull in five sizeable catfish and snappers, three of which they roasted on the spot with a fire born of branches and flint.

All the while, Arastel complained of his cousin and the priest, and the orc chuckled along as he picked the thin bones from the pale flesh of the fish. "He is no better than when we ran into him in Orgrimmar," Gurok growled in between bites. "I remember what he said to you."

The rogue's smile for the warrior was sweet and fawning. "I have forgotten, to be honest. One jibe among thousands. Of course, I have repaid him in kind over the years." He slid closer to the orc and nibbled on the last of his whiskered catfish. "Just try to ignore his snark. He's an arse, to be sure, but he has his uses."

"He dislikes me much."

"He dislikes everyone much," Arastel corrected, a wry smile on his lips as he tossed away the remains of his meal and wiped off his hands. "He wasn't always so distrustful and mean, if you can believe it. Give it time and he will eventually see that you're not out to mock him, and then he'll stop teasing you. Well, he'll tone it down, at least."

The warrior scoffed. "When did I give him reason to think I'm such an enemy? He threw the first barbs when we met."

"_You've_ never wronged him. That's why I say to ignore his whining. But Valsann was the butt of many a cruel joke in Eversong, and it has made him bitter. He likes to strike the first blow now, I think," the elf said as he crawled behind the orc and began to gently knead his scarred shoulders

Gurok grunted and leaned in to the touch. Even in his neck and chest he had felt the ache, but nothing seemed quite as tight or sore as his shoulders. "He was not always like this?"

"No, Andorel would never have fallen in love with someone so quick to bite, I think," the rogue said. "But good society shows little mercy to the sons and daughters of whores. _Especially_ brothel-born that seek to climb… Valsann was always a proud, prickly sort, but he was sociable, too- well-practiced at flattering his customers, and laughing convincingly at their jokes, and listening attentively to their prattling. Whores might make the best courtiers, now that I think on it. You have had some, surely?"

"A dozen, perhaps," the orc muttered in reply. "Mostly in Outland."

"I hope they were not demons," the elf said with a quick grin.

"Well," he said slowly, thinking of a lithe troll with a taste for blood that had sent him running for the door as he tugged his pants and boots back on.

Arastel laughed. "Fair enough. Valsann was such a good companion that Andorel wanted him for his own, and for Valsann... I think it was like a fantasy come true. Whisked away by a wealthy, respected mage, free to pursue anything he wanted- and he picked the priesthood, of all things," he said with a crooked smile. "But reality is not so gentle as that. Sunsworns aren't noble, but we mingle with them when they marry us to replenish their coffers. Eventually Valsann grew weary of the names and the laughter, all the little slights that add up, and there was naught to do but leave. He could have healed every elf from Quel'Danas to the Ghostlands, and he'd still have been 'whoreson' to them."

"I dread Silvermoon more with every passing day," the orc sighed, his brow furrowing. His shoulders tensed again, unbidden. "It sounds worse than the Undercity."

"They're both disappointing in different ways," Arastel said with a wan smile. He slid his arms around the warrior's neck and leaned forward, chest pressed to his broad back. "But you have been before, have you not?"

"_Once_," Gurok said. "And all I ever went to was a brothel."

The elf nodded, his cheek brushing the side of the orc's neck. "You've been sheltered," he agreed. "But fear not, if there is one thing the sin'dorei are skilled at, it is being two-faced. You will never even know that half of them are laughing at you inside."

"And the other half?"

"Well, some don't see the point in bothering to hide their disdain... especially from an orc," Arastel said lowly. "We'll have to ignore _them_ as well."

Gurok shrugged weakly. "It's nothing I haven't heard before, I'm sure."

"Perhaps not," the elf said with an irritated sigh. "I should go feed Shadow," he mumbled after, taking one of the leftover fish in hand.

The orc nodded but still felt too boneless from the quick massage to rise and help. He watched Arastel go, the elf calling her name softly and making clicking noises with his tongue as he waved the large fish around to entice her out of hiding.

_Shadow_. Not the most creative name, certainly, but they had no idea what the panther's name had originally been. She had appeared in the early morning on the second day of their stay, silent and dark as she perched atop the stack of firewood next to the cottage. Valsann's ear-splitting shriek had awoken them all.

The dead hunter's pet had taken to following them around after that, much like a shadow… hence her new name.

Gurok had been surprised to see the rogue take to caring for the masterless cat so quickly. She had belonged to Hatoof, and whatever the troll had died as, he had lived as their enemy. They couldn't very well take her to the Undercity, either, and he doubted if either Valsann or Andorel would appreciate this new addition to their household.

With a drawn out groan, Gurok finally pushed himself to his feet and made way back to the elves' house. He spied Shadow lounging atop the firewood pile- her favourite spot- and licking her lips. She seemed boneless, the way she was draped over the pyramid of logs.

Arastel was crouched down next to the pile of wood, nibbling his fingernails. He glanced up and smiled crookedly when the orc ambled closer. "Ready for round two?"

"Please tell me it's not more food," the warrior groaned as he slumped against the stack of logs, earning a lazy swat from the panther's tail. "How is it that there are seven meals a day here yet I'm _never_ full?"

The rogue laughed and muttered something else about Silvermoon as he maneuvered the orc back inside.

* * *

"The most delightful part has to be that they actually _think_ they're competent," Andorel laughed as he refilled his glass with an amber liquor that smelled of almonds and honey. He loved his job, the orc had learned- and he loved to speak of it just as much. "No matter how many times I manage to turn their constructs against them, or tamper with their portals so half of them winds up in Stonard, they seem shocked. Amazed. _Stunned_ that their antiquated magics are not impregnably sound. 'Mages', they call themselves," he added with a snort.

Valsann burst from the kitchen, platter in hand. "I made croquettes!" he announced as he laid the tray out on the lacquered table in their living room.

"Oh, and the way they_ dress_," the sin'dorei mage continued, nearly rolling his eyes. "Do they think that wearing robes from ten thousand years ago will somehow give them the prowess they then possessed? My great-grandmother wore less matronly clothing."

"They're getting cold," the priest interrupted. His eyes narrowed when no one immediately moved to take one of his culinary creations.

"Just tell him you think they're divine," Andorel advised the pair tiredly, his exuberance at the night elves' arcane folly bleeding away as he picked up one of the pastries to inspect it.

Valsann's head swiveled in the direction of his partner. "Am I to understand your enthusiasm for my baking has been but a show to placate me all these years?"

"Light preserve me," the mage said dryly, bracing himself.

"You spend _all day_ with the night elves-"

"Oh, don't make it sound like we've a club together. I'm not playing _croquet_ with them-"

"Do you know how I spend the waking hours? Do you?"

"No, these fourteen years together I have never even noticed you here," the mage said sardonically. "And certainly I have _never_ heard you complain of your work."

"Healing one thick-skulled sellsword after another, that's what I do," the priest growled. "She sent me _ogres_ the last time! Ogres! And I cook you every manner of food to remind us of home, slave over the stove for hours on end-"

"And slowly we begin to descend into madness," Arastel whispered near the orc's pointed ear, an eager grin on his lips at the sight of the feud before them.

Andorel was on his feet now, gesturing wildly toward the bedroom and the garden in turn, while Valsann looked as though he was prepared to cast a plague on the mage.

"Slowly? Careening, more like," Gurok snorted. He and Arastel shared a private little laugh as the two magic users took their argument into the kitchen, with much slamming of cabinet doors and bellowing in frustration.

"I see an opportunity laid before us," Arastel said mischievously as he took the orc's hand and led him back to the guestroom.

"Here?" the warrior asked when the elf began to tear off his clothing, the excitement in his voice tempered as he glanced warily back at the door, knowing that a mere two walls separated them from Valsann.

"It's here or the Undercity," the rogue said flatly, balling up his tunic and throwing it into a pile in the corner. "Better to sate ourselves now, while we have a bed free of lice and lost body parts. Surely I haven't been alone in yearning for a chance for a proper lay?" he asked sweetly, his fingers creeping up to undo the buttons of the orc's shirt.

"Are you alright? Your head isn't still hurting? Your ear?"

"Just don't go gnawing on it and I'll be fine. How's your shoulder?"

Gurok shrugged out of his shirt and started on his pants. "As pretty as it'll ever be," he said with a groan. "And you're certain I won't… hurt you?"

"Light, Gurok," the elf laughed as he guided the warrior to the bed and pushed him back onto the plump mattress. "I know how to handle a cock, even one as thick as yours. And if there was ever a place to get injured in the bed, it's _here_. I'm tempted, honestly… can you imagine the fit Valsann would throw? He'd be so flustered."

"I'm thinking of the fit he's going to throw when he finds out we used their guest bed-"

"Let him squawk," the rogue said dismissively as he leaned in to cover the warrior's mouth with his own.

* * *

Gurok liked the look of Arastel flushed and shining with sweat, his pale hair mussed and spilled across the pillow- even if it was still a bit frazzled and burned in places. He liked it even more with the elf laid out beneath him. It was worth sitting up on his elbows afterward just to keep him pinned down while he fawned over him. Arastel was golden against the deep crimson of the sheets, the sheen from the enchanted lights above them giving him a warm glow. The room had grown hot from their exertions, but not uncomfortably so, and the orc couldn't think of a time he had felt more content.

"Gurok," the elf chuckled, his eyes half-lidded. He ran his hands up and down the sides of the warrior's neck, down along his shoulders and over the swell of his chest. "I promise I won't go anywhere."

"I just like feeling you. Like this," the orc said in a murmur, dipping his head to nuzzle briefly at the hollow of Arastel's throat.

"Just don't fall asleep on top of me," the rogue teased.

"I won't. I love you," the orc said softly.

"I know," the elf replied as he stretched up for a kiss.

Gurok leaned to the side and made the elf come up short. "Don't need to be presumptuous about it," he said with a hint of irritation.

"You _told_ me so," Arastel said with a laugh, winding his fingers in the orc's short hair and drawing him back down. "In the night elves' tent in Feralas, just before we fell asleep."

"I…" Gurok didn't recall that. His cheeks grew hot to the touch.

"You were a bit delirious from exhaustion," the elf said quietly, running a hand gently down his clean-shaven jaw. He smiled. "You said it desperately, like you needed to convince me. As if I didn't know the moment you picked me up and barreled me through that damn forest, taking arrows in my stead," he whispered.

The warrior lowered himself, pressing hard against his rogue, the soft mattress giving way to accommodate them. The elf arched his smaller, softer form into him in answer.

"_I_ should be the one telling _you_," Arastel sighed. He pressed his lips against Gurok's as he murmured the words.

The orc kissed him hungrily, hardly willing to even break for breath. Already he was lamenting how uncomfortable the rest of the journey was going to be if they didn't have time with one another like this.

As Arastel began murmuring incoherently against his lips about taking a nap, the orc reluctantly rolled to the side and collapsed onto the bed. He winced at the horrific groan it gave, his half of the mattress creaking as it sagged.

"This bed wasn't made for orcs," he said with a worried look at the half-asleep elf.

"Better start getting used to it. _Silvermoon_ wasn't made for orcs," Arastel warned, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead before drifting off in his arms.

* * *

"Eggs? Poached? Fried? Boiled?"

"No. No, thank you."

Andorel and Valsann's prim cottage was like a little taste of Silvermoon, now that Gurok thought about it. He felt as though half of his ass was hanging off of the high-backed chair, he had to hold their silverware as delicately as if it was spun glass, and every time he looked up, the two elves would suddenly pretend they hadn't been staring.

"How about some toast and preserves? We have apricot," Valsann continued, apparently unwilling to take any denial for an answer.

"I am fine, but thank you." It was just to be polite. He felt he could have cleared their pantry, and easily, at that, but after the glare he'd received the first night when he had boldly asked for seconds (it could have withered the World Tree), he thought it best to decline.

"Steak? Or morning hash? I believe we have corned beef. Or would you prefer that potatoes and peppers dish I see so often in Orgrimmar?"

"I am not hungry," the orc said nervously.

"Really?" the priest asked, an artificial look of surprise crossing his features. "I would have expected you to be rather in need of nourishment after the enthusiastic rutting you had with my cousin-in-law last night-"

"Damn it, Valsann," Arastel said immediately, slamming his palms against the table so hard that the various jars and serving dishes tilted precariously. "Is that why you've been pestering him the better part of ten minutes? Let him be, you scurrilous vulture."

"- oh, I'm sorry, that is my mistake. Rutting_s_. _Plural_. No, one round of earsplitting fornication was not enough for you two, was it?" he continued as Gurok sank lower in his chair. "I believe we had to stop counting after three. Splitting headache from hearing the _handcarved mahogany_ headboard of the guestbed rattling the walls. _Hand_. _Carved_."

"Well, I imagine it gave you something to enjoy vicariously, didn't it?" the rogue asked with a catlike grin, leaning across the orc protectively. "A bit dusty between your bedsheets, is it now? Have to harp on anyone that's having a better go at it-"

"You little slut," Valsann hissed, his eyes narrowing venomously.

"You great harpy," the other elf countered, scoffing as he spread jam thickly over a pastry. "Or would 'gryphon' serve better? You have beaks of a size, after all," he added with a snigger as the priest gasped and covered his nose.

"How _was_ the bed?" Andorel asked Gurok from across the table, apparently willfully ignoring the spat between his cousin and his lover. "I must confess, when we ordered the linens for the guest room, we were not quite so generous with the thread-count as we were with the master suite-"

"Oh, no, it was very comfortable," the orc assured him. He folded his hands awkwardly in his lap and tried not to think of the stains they had undoubtedly left on the gold and crimson bedspread. "Very, er, luxurious."

The mage gave him a pleased smile as he spooned a dollop of a berry paste onto a thin pancake. "That is wonderful to hear. Did you hear that, Val? We don't need the twelve-hundred thread-count ones after all! Really, quite excellent news," Andorel said to the orc.

"Oh, stop trying to divert funds to your silly project," Valsann sneered at the mage, his spat with Arastel forgotten. "We need new guest linens more than ever! Light knows what _fluids_ I'll be finding when I go to wash _those_ ones," he said with a shudder. "Sandir and his latest fiancé will be visiting come Winter's Veil, and if they aren't burning with envy by the time they leave, I will never let you hear the end of it."

"You already don't let me hear the end of it," the mage sighed despondently.

"I bought this set of silverware specifically to gall them," the priest told them with a hint of pride. He picked up a spoon and checked his reflection in it. "If they don't try to steal at least a few pieces I will be terribly disappointed."

"Would you be comforted if _I_ stole a few knives and spoons?" the rogue asked as he toyed with one of the pale silver utensils.

"I'll have Andorel teleport you to Shattrath if you do," the priest warned. "But… out of curiosity, how much would these fetch?"

Arastel dragged his thumbnail lightly across the lustrous metal. "For the soup spoons? I would say fifty gold apiece. You don't see this design as much anymore."

Gurok peered at the thorny vines that bordered the stem of the utensils and thought them not worth more than the silver they consisted of.

"Good, good," the priest muttered. "I got them for a pittance on the- on the, well… they were-"

Arastel flashed a wicked grin. "Black market?"

"N-no, of course not," the priest said with a little cough. "As if I would ever... If you'll excuse me," he said under his breath as he rose and darted back into the kitchen.

"It's that trade princess he works for," Andorel said to fill the ensuing silence. "She fills his ears with all sorts of illicit dealings. Best you go after him, cousin. We'll need him to do your hair tonight."

"Can't you?" the rogue elf pleaded.

The mage frowned as he bit into a tiny muffin. "Light, no. I don't know the first thing about coloring hair. Valsann... it's something they did rather frequently, I'm told. Some customers like redheads, some blondes. You know," he said with a little shrug. "He will do you properly."

"Your hair?" Gurok asked, leaning forward on the couch. His gaze went up to the rogue's messy locks, with the scab that cut across his scalp and the brittle ends where hair had been burned away.

"We discussed it one night," Arastel said hesitantly.

"Few people forget the face of the man that killed their loved ones," Andorel explained, a sigh on his lips. "And our Arastel, well... he is quite striking, isn't he? And hundreds saw him as he was dragged through the streets. It is a little thing, and no one that knew him well will be deceived by a simple change of hair color, but it may be enough to shield him from a few prying eyes."

"Go sleep," the rogue told him, his small hand slipping into the orc's and giving it a squeeze. "Rest up for tomorrow. I'll be in there soon enough, though you may not recognize me at first," he said, his eyes tired but his smile teasing.

* * *

Arastel looked nearly like a different elf when they made to leave the next morning. His hair was shorter by half a dozen inches, cut in uneven layers to remove the burnt and singed bits and parted to the side to hide the strip of scalp where one of Hatoof's arrows had grazed him. And gone was the soft golden blond that Gurok had loved to wind his fingers through…

The priest had spread a thick, dark paste through Arastel's hair the night before and left it all night, wrapped tightly in a stained towel. It had been a strange thing, coupling with him while he struggled to keep his cumbersome headwear in place, and the comforting scent of the elf was blanketed by the astringent smell of the dye.

Gurok had opened his eyes blearily that morning and found the freshly showered rogue leaning against the doorframe, his damp locks now a dark auburn.

He missed the elf's old hair. The new color seemed flat and lifeless in comparison to the old, with its layers and layers of spun gold, dark and rich underneath and shimmering pale from the sun on top. Arastel's eyes, too, had changed. Now they were carefully ringed with dark khol, thick at the corners and narrower inside; it made him seem older and less friendly, less inviting.

_Which is good, but..._ Gurok watched silently as the rogue wound a dark cotton scarf around the lower half of his face and then pulled a plain leather mask over it.

"You could be any adventuring rogue finding his way back home," Andorel said approvingly as he considered his cousin. "Slouch more, keep your walk fluid and not so… bouncy. Look angrier, more spiteful at the world. With any luck, not only will you go unrecognized in the streets, but you will also go unmolested by pesky merchants and street urchins."

"You do look like a dreg worth avoiding," Valsann agreed flatly, dragging his thumb across his bottom lip thoughtfully.

Arastel turned and gave the warrior a questioning look.

"It doesn't suit you," the orc said stubbornly. "It doesn't match your skin, your freckles. Every bit of you looks sun-touched except for your hair."

"_You_ try doing his highlights then," Valsann spat at once, bristling. "It's been more than a dozen years since I've had to do this," he said with a scowl. "Forgive my lack of finesse. He will simply have to make do." To Arastel he added, "Keep your head covered as a good rogue should and no one will even see how flat the color is."

Gurok felt a tiny built guilty then, for it seemed the priest's pride was greatly injured. "It will be better once he wears it for a while. I'm just... not used to it," he said quietly.

"It's only temporary," Arastel reminded him gently.

The orc nodded and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Just until this is done."

"Just so," the rogue agreed, rubbing the ends of his newly-auburn hair between his fingers.

"Here now," Valsann was saying from behind them. He carried two sizeable packs that were stuffed tight, the fabric bulging under the straps that held them shut.

"What is it?" Gurok asked as one was shoved unceremoniously into his arms.

"Ham. Slabs of it," the priest said with a shrug. "I imagine I am correct in assuming that any attention paid to presentation would be _wasted_ upon the two of you?"

The orc shrugged and Arastel nodded.

"As I thought. So here- salted meat and dried meat and even pickled meat that the two of you can eat like common worgs. I care not," he said, waving the whole situation off. "Oh, and there's a bit of fruit. Some hard cheese and biscuits. And a skin of wine. Extra bandages, too, though I have seen your brand of 'first aid' and it is shoddy at best and gross malpractice at-"

"Thank you," the orc said through tightly clenched teeth. While Arastel wandered off to check their supplies over once more, Gurok took it upon himself to smile and look as grateful as he felt for all that the pair of elves had done. "For everything. We owe you much."

All the screeching and complaining aside, the pair of Azsharan elves had saved them from certain imprisonment and restored them to health. That deserved more thanks than Gurok knew how to say.

"Yes. Well," Valsann said stiffly. He coughed into his gloved hand and cleared his throat. "Do take care of Arastel. He is… family, loathe as I am to admit it. And… I suppose you are as well, by extension, then." His nose wrinkled slightly. "Andorel and I will embark for Silvermoon as soon as his work permits it. Try not to die before we even get there."

"Arastel," the priest called, gesturing for the other elf to come over. He pressed a sealed envelope into the rogue's hand. "When you get to Silvermoon, go to the Crimson Swan. She'll have eyes on your family's house for sure, but who will pay any mind to two dusty adventurers visiting a whorehouse?" He smiled faintly as he checked them over one last time, making certain all their straps and belts were buckled and all their supplies were in place.

"The Crimson Swan?" Arastel asked as he turned the red letter over in his hands before tucking it into his vest.

Valsann nodded. "Ask for Jeth. Give him that letter and he'll take care of you as long as he can."

The now-brunette elf smiled reluctantly and pulled the priest in for a quick embrace. "Thank you, Val. If I do die, you can have cabinetry that Aunt Clara promised to me."

"Truly?" the priest asked, looking astonished. "Such a nice finish… it would be perfect when we're done remodeling the kitchen."

"Thank you," Arastel repeated with a weary sigh.

"Oh, yes. I don't mean that I want you to die," Valsann said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Now hurry up. We haven't got all day to wait on you."

"I trust you've both been teleported before?" Andorel said pleasantly, already at work on conjuring a portal.

Gurok nodded, as did Arastel. He had never grown used to the tingling feeling, the sense of being pulled through void space and spat out somewhere far, far away. He wondered if _mages_ ever got used to it.

"Keep awares," the mage warned as he finished, a faintly shimmering image of the Undercity hovering before them. "Take a page from the Forsakens' book and trust no one. Even your Kor'kron," he said to the orc.

"They are not like to be on Arcelia's strings, you said," Gurok replied. He had been hoping that his own connections might benefit them for once.

"No, but they belong to the Warchief, and he… well, he is no Thrall," he said carefully. "I appreciate my appointment and I laud his efforts against the kal'dorei, but make no mistake- he does not love us, and the Kor'kron is changed since you left."

The warrior shook his head. "The Kor'kron in the Undercity were put there to stomp out corruption and keep the Forsaken in line- who better to aid us if her pawns try to snare us?"

"Trust no one," Andorel repeated, his face solemn as he gestured to the portal.

"And we'll watch your bloody cat until then, but when this is all taken care of, I fully expect you to return for it," Valsann added just as they stepped through, along with something about due compensation.

* * *

**I thought a lot about bumping this to M and making it a bit more explicit, but in the end... I figured it'd be best if it remained T, as that was how I started it and that's how people have been reading it. And sex is hard, there's that too.**


	7. Chapter 7

**This is another long one. I'm sorry! Hopefully it's not too much of a chore to get through. Some new characters are showing up- and for Gurok, a piece of his past makes a return. :)**

* * *

They emerged into the Undercity amidst a dozen other travelers, all milling about the portal they had arrived by.

It was as dark a place as any cave and had all the aroma of an especially unkempt sewer. Gurok's nose wrinkled in disgust- the smells of the Undercity were an affront to his senses and stuck in his nostrils like a thick fog. A stark frown crossed his lips as he realized that he would be lost for the duration of their stay here, at least as far as scent went- between the odors of the city itself and its inhabitants, the orc could put a finger on nothing else. All that lingered in the air was the smell of death and waste.

They shuffled away from the bustling portals, looking the part of bedraggled adventurers on some far flung quest.

Arastel played it well, his eyes and posture sullen and hostile. He unsheathed his daggers every five minutes to refresh their poisons, it seemed, though not without good reason. Everywhere they went in the maze-like city, there were eyes upon them- some hungry and unsavory, like starving wolves, and others too genial to be trusted. Often, their unwanted observers would turn and find someone new to watch once they saw the rogue sliding green and amber oils along the daggers.

The elf had told him once before that fear was as much a rogue's weapon as any warlock, and Gurok could see it in action here. Arastel's daggers cut down enemies before they had even risen, all with a simple unsheathing and a little flick of the wrist to let the wet sheen of poison over dark metal catch the dim light emanating from the green sludge in the drains. The blades themselves were blackened, the better to strike without the gleam of bright metal giving the rogue away, and that also seemed to resonate with their unwanted watchers.

_That_ was clever, Gurok had to concede, though he did not know whether it was honorable. There was no need for such considerations in open battle or guard duty, as he was used to, but for this slinking and furtive warfare, it was ideal. He was half tempted to have his own axe-blades darkened as well.

They picked their way toward the heart of the Undercity, where Forsaken in various states of decay peddled wares in raspy voices and where- they hoped- some means of travel toward Eversong could be purchased.

Gurok grimaced as they passed a stand that sold mutton, raw and glistening with a sickly purple sheen as it hung on racks. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight, and not just because of the clouds of flies that buzzed around the meat.

But they were only stories... stories the Kor'kron's veterans told recruits to tease and unsettle them, that's all. Kor'kron were even posted here now, within the dark stone walls of the Forsaken city, and they would never allow the undead to continue turning captives into sheep, if that had ever happened at all.

Still, the orc knew he would stomach no meat while in this place. Neither would he let Arastel eat it. The undead and the elves were close allies, having shared the defense of this land across the great sea, but even so...

He shuddered. It was too easy to go missing in the dark, winding tunnels here, or in the dusky woods just outside... and every rumor had some spark of truth within it, did it not?

They reached the center of the city, heart of commerce- adventurers bustled between the bank and various sellers, many of the living with cloth drawn up to cover their mouths and noses. Kor'kron in grey plate stood at every other support column, surveying the crowd that swarmed with Forsaken and watching for unrest.

The rogue flashed his dagger blades one last time before biding him to stay put while he went to the flightmaster to argue routes and- hopefully- hammer out prices.

Gurok grunted and took up a spot along the fringes of the hustle and bustle of the Undercity's heart, his back nearly touching the cold, damp stone behind him. To his left, perhaps seven feet away, was one of the Kor'kron stationed here, his knees locked and his pose rigid even if the slight glaze of his eyes betrayed boredom.

Gurok had to smile a little. There were always days like that, after the initial excitement of a new station began to wear off, during long lulls between threats. The Kor'kron guard was young, with unscarred skin and jet black hair. Younger than himself, which surprised Gurok until he remembered that he was no fresh warrior. He had seen a dozen more summers than this pup and had the scars to prove it... and the aches, and the weariness.

Andorel had discouraged him from seeking the Kor'kron out at all, but what did he know? He hadn't spent near half his life with these orcs, as Gurok had. And this guard needn't know he had been dismissed... and how much more might they gain from their aid?

Even now Arastel was having trouble with his negotiations, that much was clear. The war against the Gilnean worgs had taken its toll on the Forsaken, and though Sylvanas' valkyr could easily bolster the number of undead, replacement bats were harder to come by. The ones that hadn't been killed were still pressed into service, leaving the city's bat handler with few of the creatures to carry passengers until more were bred and trained, and Gurok had a feeling he would be loathe to send one as far as Silvermoon.

He made his decision then, turning to the young Kor'kron beside him and greeting him as he would have if he'd still been in good standing. "Hail, brother. Hope they've not kept you on duty too long."

"Hail," was the guard's startled, automatic reply. "You're... Kor'kron?" the young orc asked skeptically.

_It's good that he's doubtful_, Gurok told himself. A guard that believed everything would quickly be duped. "Was. I moved on recently," he said. _Only a half-lie, if that_. "In Grommash Hold, under Captain Nuar. I'm... a Bloodtusk." Safer than giving his first name, and more like to get a response.

The young guard straightened up at that, recognition faint in his eyes, and for a brief second Gurok worried. "Kin to Kor Bloodtusk?"

The warrior nodded, though he was a bit taken aback. Kor was his blood, though years and many miles had separated them. His mother's family had diminished their ties to her after she wed his father, and Gurok had done little to sew new bonds to the people that had turned from his family. "Distant kin, yes. Has he joined the Kor'kron?" he asked with interest. "These few months I have finally tried my hand at adventuring... it is more difficult to keep aware of the latest happenings than I had anticipated," he admitted.

The guard grinned at that, now abandoning his upright stance for something more relaxed. "I hear you. Stationed in this dump, we're lucky to hear anything at all. In Northrend, we always said that Northrend was the last to know, but now I think it's _here_," he guffawed. "Kor Bloodtusk is no son of the Kor'kron, but he is loyal to the Warchief and a great supporter. He works to align the rest of the Horde to our views."

Gurok grunted and nodded. It sounded well enough, but Kor was not what he was interested in. "I must be truthful. I saw Kor'kron brothers and I had hoped... I need a way to Silvermoon," he said carefully, nervous of lying to the orc, "but I had a had a close call with the last portal I took," he said, raising the plate of his shoulder armor to let the guard see the terrible scars across the flesh underneath, the deep trench where muscle and skin had been eaten away by fel dust.

"A portal did _that_?" the young orc asked gruffly, aghast. "Hope you skinned the mage."

Gurok grimaced for show and thanked the ancestors for the guard's youth. "That and more, though I'd rather not show you. I'm wary of this... orb of translocation," he said quietly. "Have you any wyverns to spare? I heard talk that the bat handlers have been shrewd. Even now my partner is still haggling with them."

"Shrewd," the young orc repeated, then spat. "Unwilling to cooperate, just like the rest of these infernal undead. We have dozens of adventurers holed up here, no bats even leaving for the Hinterlands or Arathi, and the handlers at the outposts are unwilling to lend their wyverns to the city... not that I can blame them," he growled, casting a dark look at the mildewing walls around them "And the zeppelins," he continued, his eyes growing hard, "don't count on those. Damned goblins. Had one go down on the way to Stranglethorn. But what else is to be expected? They try to cut corners with even the _Warchief's_ own fleet and demolishers."

The warrior shook his head. "Trying times," he said in way of agreement, shifting uneasily as he tried to think of a way to turn the conversation back to the wyvern that he needed.

"You don't know the half of it, brother," the guard said suddenly, his angry stare taking Gurok by surprise. "These elves and undead... even the tauren. They spit in the Warchief's face, would rather climb into bed with the Alliance. And the trolls... at least they're craven," he spat. "Skulking rats."

Gurok stared dumbly, stunned for a long moment while the young Kor'kron guard continued. "Aye, we have wyverns. I'll have to send you to the captain about one, though."

The older orc nodded, but in truth he knew it was all for naught now. A captain would question him more thoroughly, would discover the manner in which he had been discharged- no mention had been made of any missing axes, certainly, but Nuar could not have left a glowing recommendation on his record. "The situation in the Kor'kron... in Orgrimmar," he said quietly, feeling uncomfortable as he imagined sharing a shift with an orc like this. "It's grown this dire?"

The guard nodded and sneered. "Even other orcs challenge us. Weaklings and cowards, Alliance-loving dogs. But their words mean little and less," he laughed, gripping his long-handled axe fiercely with both hands. "Steel and blood are what speak, and soon enough we will be roaring across Kalimdor, brother. Bring your partner and join us, there is always work for the mercenary sort to do, and better an ex-Kor'kron than some..."

Gurok saw the guard's eyes narrow murderously and turned to look over his shoulder, wondering at what could draw out so much ire in the other orc.

_Arastel_.

The elf strode toward him with displeasure written across his brow, and the anger there only strengthened and mingled with distaste as he caught the guard's glare. Save for one dark look, he ignored the young orc and spoke to Gurok as if they were alone. "He tells us to take the orb if we want to go to Silvermoon," he said bitterly. "Bats don't go beyond the Plaguelands."

"_This_ is your partner?" the guard spat suddenly, the area of his face not protected by his helm wrinkled with distaste.

"He is," Gurok said at once, straightening up and squaring his shoulders as he shifted protectively in front of the elf. Anger mingled with disappointment, and even the thought of punching the uppity pup in the neck- his gorget wasn't properly fastened and given the right angle, one good blow could drive it into his windpipe or jugular- left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The Kor'kron were supposed to be brothers and sisters, trusted with each other's lives regardless of personal differences...

He sneered at the Kor'kron, suddenly feeling more disgusted than he could say. And he didn't miss the look he received in turn. "Unblooded whelp," he growled in reply, taking Arastel's arm as he stalked past the young orc. He was pleased to see the briefest glimmer of worry in the guard's eyes, the anxious tightening of his grip on his axe- Gurok knew the dim lighting here must make him look even more fearsome, shadows deepening the scars that lined his face and arms.

But it was gone in a moment, the unflinching cockiness possessed only by the youthful and inexperienced returning in force. The Kor'kron smiled derisively as they passed without quarrel, his yellowing teeth and tusks just visible behind his mouthguard. "Yeah, get to Silvermoon and stay there, elf-lover," he called after them. "Best start walking!"

* * *

"Andorel told you that the Kor'kron was changing," the elf muttered as they completed another circle of the sickly green canal.

"They... they can't all be like that," Gurok said, despairing. The Kor'kron was Thrall's legacy. It couldn't change, not like this, not so drastically in such a short matter of time...

"Not all, no," Arastel replied easily. "But enough. The aged blood has been purged. Less than half the Kor'kron are veterans of old, and even fewer seasoned soldiers remain in the greater bulk of the armies. The Warchief surrounds himself with young orcs returning from Northrend and the eager untried. They are hungry for blood and victory, and thoroughly in love with their warhero."

"The Northrend veterans are too..." He thought of the trolls and orcs that he had seen lingering in Orgrimmar the months after the victory in the north, hollows under their eyes and bones showing sickly under sallow skin. Half of them looked like the undead they'd been charged with defending the rest of the world from.

"The disillusioned are few and far between," Arastel interrupted, already aware of what he meant. "You only noticed them because you hang around in bars so much. But most of the ones that made it back only tested their blades against vrykul and half-rotted undead," the elf said with a shrug. "Not risen comrades and dying Alliance."

The warrior swallowed thickly. "Why would this happen now? He is no Thrall, but-"

"But he is a warhero, and so far Garrosh is failing at war," Arastel whispered cautiously, sidling closer. He glanced at the orc sidelong. "This can't be news to you, Gurok. He put the trolls in a slum. You do remember Tablah, don't you?"

"Of course I remember him," the orc said sharply. He took a long breath. "But that was..."

"Just the beginning," Arastel finished for him, his smile equal parts grim and amused.

Gurok looked at him darkly. "Not the words I had intended."

"But true, and growing truer by the day," the elf said with a hint of disquiet. "But that is a problem for after Arcelia."

The orc grunted in response, feeling too conflicted to bother with words. The undead were one thing... who _could_ trust them after the Wrathgate? But the rest of the Horde? _Craven trolls_, he thought bitterly. He'd seen trollish guards in Outland face two and three infernals alone, sheer fury allowing them to stand against the demons; he'd met blood elves, too, willing to risk unimaginable tortures by infiltrating Legion strongholds there.

"He was _so_ wrong," Gurok sighed later when they'd found a dark but reasonably dry place to settle against the wall, secluded from other adventurers until they decided how to proceed. His brow furrowed as he tried to fathom being so misguided.

"You know that because you've got firsthand experience that says otherwise," Arastel said as he picked through a bag of nuts and dried fruit, taking all the cashews for himself. "All they've been hearing lately is how great orcs are. And I'm not arguing," he said with a little wink at the warrior, "but it does breed a certain... arrogance. And I'm _sin'dorei_- you know it's bad if _we_ have to point out that someone's being stuck up."

"Stuck up," the orc repeated listlessly. He hoped that was all it was. A year serving alongside trolls and tauren would wise up the hot-blooded youths- nothing quite forged bonds like depending on someone for your life, suffering the same losses and hardships. "So, how are we getting to Silvermoon?" he asked gruffly, eager to leave this subject behind.

"I suppose by wolf," Arastel answered with a drawn out sigh. "A long trek. We can't take the Springroad past the Ghostlands, either. Too many eyes..."

"At least Eversong is fairly tame," Gurok supplied, hoping to cheer the elf somewhat. "Four or five days to cross the Plaguelands, maybe, and then another two to cross elvish lands unseen. That's not terrible."

"No," the rogue agreed, frowning as he moved on to eating all of the dried apple slices from the bag. "I'm just... ready for this all to be over."

"I know," the warrior said. He pushed his hand through the mess of short auburn tresses at the back of the elf's head, shifting the hair aside as he used his thumb and forefinger to massage gently at the back of his neck. "It will be, soon."

Arastel's eyes had slipped shut and the bag of food had fallen to his side, forgotten. He moaned softly and leaned into the touch. "Light, I hope so."

"Touching," a voice said coldly.

Gurok had only just laid his hands on his axes when the sharp crack of a whip and Arastel's strangled cry made him freeze.

"Ah, good. I'd feared you had turned into a raging brute, but it looks as though you've managed to keep _some_ of your wits," the voice continued. It belonged to a cloaked figure, silhouetted by the eerie glow from the sludge-filled canal behind him, the hood of his heavy violet robes casting dark shadow over his face. At a glance, he was broader than any troll or undead, though short and slender for an orc. And his accent was familiar...

To Gurok's left, Arastel still struggled to breathe, his nimble fingers desperately working to loosen the coil of the whip around his throat. When the orc made the slightest movement toward him, the succubus on the other end merely flicked her wrist and the leather tightened, nearly bringing the rogue to his knees.

"What do you want?" the warrior asked urgently, unable to tear his eyes from the elf to address the warlock. Arastel's mouth seemed riveted open, a horrible, rattling noise escaping as he fought to inhale. "What? _What?!_"

"Why, Gurok, I'm hurt," the figure said condescendingly.

Gurok at last pulled his gaze from Arastel. He _almost_ recognized that voice. It was high for an orc, dark and smooth like molasses. He couldn't place where he'd heard it at first, but then the memories came filtering in slowly. Sneaking away from their cohort to catch scorpions and draw in the wet sand of Durotar's beaches- the voice that told him stories late at night when they slept beside the hearth in Gurok's house, asked endless questions about his father and what he did in the Cleft of Shadows, that always sounded so reluctant when he had to ask Gurok for help hammering rocks or practicing his axe-swing. It was...

"Ortok?" he asked, almost too surprised for words.

The warlock chuckled softly as he pulled down his hood, revealing a smile framed by pearly white tusks.

And Gurok felt dread at the sight of it.

* * *

"How many years has it been?" Ortok asked as they descended another flight of spiraling stairs. "Ten? Is that about right? Time has a way of... losing its meaning here."

Gurok had long since given up on trying to keep count of the steps, on making a mental map of where they were being led. The dank tunnels were dark and twisted, collapsed in some places, too knotted to make sense of. Even if they could escape the chains and ropes that bound them, they would never find their way back up to the surface.

"Do try to keep up," the warlock said from behind them. "You'll find Minerva can be a bit... impatient."

The succubus gave the chain around Arastel's neck a sharp yank to emphasize her master's words, nearly causing the elf to tumble down the steep set of stairs.

They carried on, following the strutting succubus as quickly as the chains that bound their legs would allow. All the while Gurok could feel the other orc's gaze upon his back, as heavy as any set of plate. Even more than the strange echoes and the consuming darkness, it was Ortok's proximity that unnerved him. Though his breastplate remained, his pauldrons had been stripped away, exposing the pockmarks and scars that riddled his shoulder. Every so often he felt soft fingers pass over his damaged skin, cold and eager and entirely unwelcome; Gurok had to set his jaw and will himself not to flinch at the contact, not to give in to his rising panic.

He could hear Ortok's breath behind him. Felt it on his neck, against his ears. He smelled of fel smoke and mint, the latter unable to cover the acrid odor that accompanied demons and their summoning. There was his hand again, this time running down along his leather-covered side, in between the heavy plates of his armor.

Gurok shuddered, half from the touch he yearned to shy away from and half because it was apparent that the orc he had shared his childhood with was gone, irretrievable. If even a sliver of Ortok remained as he remembered him- mischievous but eager to please, enthusiastic to learn and to teach, quick to defend his lone friend- it was so deeply buried beneath the hungry, dark thing he had become that it might as well have been locked away under the sea.

The demon at last stopped at an arched entry into a small, bare area lit only by four small torches held in sconces. As Gurok was being chained to the far wall, he noticed that to either side of them were lightless tunnels. They seemed to extend forever, like some abyss, and he was almost certain there was something _scratching_ its way toward them, the noise echoing faintly...

Was this an execution? Would demons crawl from the shadows to devour them as they sat here, helplessly bound? He struggled at the thick twist of rope that knotted his arms together behind his back, but it was fruitless.

Arastel was chained beside him, so close that their legs brushed together and the warrior could faintly feel his warmth. That was his sole comfort. The elf's throat was red and welting from the crack of the whip that had stung against his flesh, and the dirty chain that now ringed his neck surely couldn't have been helping, but Gurok had yet to hear the slightest noise of discomfort from the rogue.

That was good. Gurok had only had one encounter with a succubus, fortunately, but he had quickly learned that they thrived upon pain as much as they did upon pleasure. Give her nothing, and she may become bored. _Or more creative,_ the orc thought with a shiver.

Ortok watched his demon secure the both of them, his countenance impassive but his eyes alight with a devious interest. He was gaunt- terribly gaunt, though he had grown taller since they had last seen each other all those years ago. His skin, once smooth and pale green, now appeared greyed from lack of light; his face, once so handsome that Gurok had been drawn to trace its well-formed planes with his clumsy fingers, now seemed hollow and severe.

His eyes were the same color- that deep, rich brown that made Gurok think of the soft, muddy banks of the Southfury- but now they were hard and cold, like earth frosted over.

"Ortok," he said softly. Initially, a part of him had hoped irrationally that it had all been for show, that he was some ally in the guise of an enemy. But the lengthy subterranean walk had vanished any thought of such aid... a dozen other cloaked figures had greeted him on their trek down beneath the Undercity, and even now they hovered outside the entry, shadows within shadows. There was some dire fate planned for them, the orc knew now.

"Gurok," the warlock replied curtly. An unkind smile twisted his lips. "I thought you had died on Draenor."

"I was recruited into the Kor'kron."

The other orc made a soft noise and glanced away, the corner of his mouth pulling back in a surprised half-grin. "I suppose that is the price of living in the Undercity. Little gossip interests the undead," the warlock sighed. He took a step closer, his heavy robes swishing silently about his feet, hands tucked into his sleeves. His eyes never left the warrior's face. "What an opportunity," he whispered.

"How long have you..." Gurok trailed off, uncertain of what to ask first. _When did you go so wrong? _seemed likely to guarantee them both a flaying from the temperamental orc.

"How long have I been in the Undercity?" Ortok replied. "Nearly three years now. It did not take long for me to realize that Orgrimmar's facilities are... lacking," he said with a cold smile. "_Here_, however, the possibilities are extraordinary. There are things brewing here, Gurok- wondrous things. However, I'm afraid I can't go into detail," he sighed. "I would hate to offend your… delicate sensibilities."

The warrior stiffened, a dozen blood-splattered memories of Draenor vying for his attention. Ortok was lucky for the bonds that kept him fastened to the floor, or else he'd have shoved the slender orc into the stone walls for his words. "Yes, how delicate I am for preferring to _slay_ demons over keeping them as pets," he spat.

Ortok only laughed, and that unsettled Gurok more than anything else. "Pets? Even now you try to diminish their power, their value. Just as our trainers always tried to do to me..." he said with a faint sneer. "For all your strength, you _are_ delicate, Gurok. I may have been weak in body, but I was always stronger than you in heart and mind. You could not even follow in your father's footsteps when the path had been so painstakingly laid out for you."

"He _chose _not to," Arastel piped up, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

Gurok twisted in his bonds, wishing that the elf could have remained silent. Ortok hadn't paid him even the slightest bit of attention, but now... The warlock smiled cruelly down at Arastel, too-white teeth glistening in the torch-light. His gaze lingered on the elf's throat, pale scars and reddened lash marks.

"Listen to me," Gurok said quickly, leaning over to try and catch the warlock's eye.

But the other orc continued to study the elf tied up before him, his lip curling. "So, I was too unsavory for you, but a lying, thieving rogue is acceptable?" Ortok turned and spat. "Your mother would at least have approved of _me_."

"Ortok," the warrior said sharply.

But the warlock focused on Arastel, crouching down and clutching his face between narrow green fingers, squeezing his chin so tightly that his skin blanched. "Have you realized it yet, Gurok? Has reason at last penetrated that thick skull of yours?" He spoke more quietly to the elf. "I tried to convince him. For _years_, I tried. But he resigned himself to be a mediocre guard, a _warrior_, rather than a powerful mage. Or an even more powerful warlock," he added wistfully.

"My life is not your concern."

Ortok pushed the elf away and rose to tower over Gurok. "You could have been something! Some_one_! What are you now?" He stooped to laugh in the other orc's face, his lips pulled up in a venomous sneer. "A Kor'kron castoff. An expendable pawn in someone else's game. What is it like, Gurok, to be a minor character in your own life's story?" He tutted and turned away, pacing back toward the door. "What I would have done to have had a father like yours," the warlock hissed. "One that could teach me, could have passed to me all of his gifts… one that wouldn't _strike_ me for asking to learn spellcraft. You had all the fortune in the world and you wasted it to become some second-rate minion of the Warchief. And now you aren't even _that._ Just a moronic blade for hire caught in the web of the Sunsworns and Silvermoon's petty feuds," he sneered. "You had… so much potential," the orc lamented, slowly turning to face them again. "_We_ did."

Something inside Gurok hurt at those words. He thought briefly of the orc he'd known in his youth, weak but full of wonder, as content to sit by and watch him spend hours carving into tree stumps with his axe as Gurok was to do it. "Ortok… the past is settled. Leave it there."

"Leave it?" He laughed coldly. "It is easy for you to say such things, isn't it?"

"I cared for you-"

"You cared for yourself more," the smaller orc said bitterly.

"Ortok, please," the warrior pleaded, feeling there was nothing left to do. "At least let Arastel go free. For any affection you once had for me, let him go. For any ill you bear me now, keep _me_, if you must."

"Free him?" the warlock scoffed. "No, Arcelia's orders are to hold you both."

"Arcelia," the elf breathed, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes," Ortok said with a wicked grin. "However, in light of my capture of _you_, Sunsworn, I suspect she will see fit to leave Gurok with me. There are… many things I would show you," he said to the other orc, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

"Ortok," the warrior said evenly, trying to keep the growing panic from his voice. He futilely tried pulling his wrists apart, squirming against the bindings. "You mustn't do this... you can... you can be _different_," he tried.

"I've _always_ been different," the warlock replied dryly as he turned from them, hands clasped behind his back. "As soon as Arcelia gets back to me with her permission to keep you, Gurok, we can begin catching up _properly_. Minerva... watch them for a moment, would you?" he said lightly as he trod out of the alcove and into the shadows, the hovering forms of the other warlocks receding with him.

His departure was accompanied by the arrival of the long-legged succubus, her magenta skin bare and nearly gleaming in the flicker of the torch lights. In her hand was her whip, which she began to slowly uncoil with a dark smile.

"Oh... Light," Arastel murmured beside him, now redoubling his efforts at loosening the thick ropes around his wrists.

"Ah, ah, ah," she said, cracking the whip so close to the elf's head that he seemed momentarily dazed from the sharp noise. "That's against the rules. And you don't want to break my rules, do you?" she asked, fluttering her heavy lashes.

"Of course not," the rogue said hurriedly. He licked his lips and schooled his expression into something more mischievous. "But how are we to have any fun at all like this? We can barely move."

Minerva's smile exposed sharp canines. "Oh, it's not supposed to be fun for _you_. Master's orders," she said with mock regret. From a leather band strapped to one of her thighs, she produced a blade so fine and honed that Gurok suspected it could separate skin from flesh with the flick of a wrist... and that it probably _had_. And was it just him, or was the faint noise in the tunnels growing louder?

But then he couldn't hear it anymore, couldn't hear anything over the sounds of his heart in his ears and Arastel's frantic breaths as he tried rubbing the knot at his wrists against a jagged piece of the wall. The succubus was laughing at their dread, her skin growing flushed and deepening in color.

A sudden sound distracted all three of them- a soft whistle from within the dark void of the tunnel to Gurok's left, the three notes echoing hollowly.

The succubus' painted lips curved down in a sharp frown as she paced closer, her glowing eyes narrowed in suspicion. The flaying knife was still firm in hand as she peered down the tunnel, searching. "Much as I'd like to play, this isn't the time. Reveal yourself," she called into the dark, swishing her whip around on the stone floor.

Gurok was surprised to hear the whistle come again, closer now. From the darkness... a second succubus appeared. This one sported longer spirals of curled hair and stubbier horns, and her form was fleshy and curvier than Minerva's. The new succubus drew back her leathery wings and pushed her buxom chest out, flaunting barely covered breasts.

Minerva just scowled harder, her whipping arm raised threateningly. She hissed something in Demonic, causing the newly arrived succubus to snarl, snort and then strut away, offended.

"Not to your tastes, huh?" came a raspy voice from the dark. "Can't blame a guy for trying. How about this?"

"I said, show yourself!" the succubus commanded, her sultry tones forgotten. She cracked her whip and put a hand on her hip expectantly. "Or I'll have to come find you, and you _won't_ like the punishment you'll get."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what I like." A half-rotten undead slinked out of the shadows, his half-bald head bowed. Gurok tried not to bare his teeth in a sneer at the putrid Forsaken's form- he had barely any nose left, almost no hair, and what little flesh remained to his face looked slimy.

Minerva's smile was honey and poison as she slowly approached the drably-garbed warlock, her hips swishing. "Ortok never likes witnesses," she murmured, looking almost gleeful at this new arrival that she could freely dispose of.

"Baras," the Forsaken said quickly, raising his hand and glancing back over his shoulder.

"I _live_ to be commanded." The growling voice belonged to a demon the likes of which Gurok had only seen in the Outland before now- seven feet tall with purple skin and rippling muscle, covered only by chains and a few choice pieces of armor.

The succubus looked as taken aback by this uncommon minion as Gurok was. She paused in her sultry walk, mouth slightly parted. She pinched the leather of her whip between her clawed thumb and index finger and ran the length between them, eyes never leaving the wrathguard before her.

"A perfect match," the warlock said benevolently. He steepled his hands and gave his demon a little nod. "Baras, why don't you show her just how, uh, _thoroughly_ you enjoy being commanded."

The towering demon growled in assent and stalked closer, his long tail coiling around the succubus' legs and toying with the length of her whip. His helm covered the upper portion of his face in shadow, but the desire in his long-fanged grin was clear.

Minerva giggled softly as she pulled on the thick chains wrapped around the wrathguard's waist, her wings fluttering excitedly.

"Down the tunnel a ways, if you don't mind," the undead added with a little sneer. "I'll, uh, keep an eye on these two," he added, though the succubus seemed long beyond caring about her charges now that Baras was practically fellating her whip.

The undead warlock tilted his head as he watched the two demons retreat into the darkness amidst faint noises of pleasure. "I might've let 'em stay if it was my succubus with her," he told them with a little shrug. "But Baras is enough to make _anyone_ feel insecure. Even stallions such as myself," he said with a hacking cough.

"And who might you be?" Arastel asked in a careful whisper.

"Geoffry," the undead replied with a smile that exposed black-rimmed teeth and grey gums. "And no need for introductions... I heard most everything, Sunsworn."

The elf nodded and licked his lips nervously. "I assume since you're not with them-"

"That I'm against 'em? Well, you're not wrong," Geoffry replied, stroking his boney chin thoughtfully. "Lotta risk, crossing Ortok and his dimwits."

"You sent your demon to distract his succubus without even being decided on helping us?" Gurok asked, exasperated already.

"Don't question my methods," the warlock rasped, what was left of his eyebrows drawing together. He turned back to Arastel, his lidless eyes studying him intently. "I got a friend that's an elf. My only friend, really, even if he's a bit of an ass. Good thing I'm such a charitable fellow, or he'd have no friends at all either," the warlock rambled. "Don't much care about that Arcelia, but I _do_ happen to despise your ex," he said, sparing Gurok a pointed glance. "_Orcs_. I've seen enough sodding orcs in my city, frankly. I think putting him in Arcelia's doghouse might be a good start to dealing with him. I hear she doesn't much like people that let her prey escape."

"Then... you'll free us?" Gurok questioned slowly, exchanging an uncertain glance with Arastel. The elf seemed nearly as perplexed with how to deal with their unexpected savior.

"Of course I will! We'll sort out my reward later, heh." He grinned again, and this time Gurok caught a whiff of some foul scent, like a carcass left in a swamp. "Should probably get out of here soon. I'm sure Baras is hog-tied by now, won't be able to back us up if the succubus gets bored and comes back..." In the brief silence that followed, there was a muffled crack of a whip followed by a guttural groan; Geoffry sighed and shook his head, muttering about his demon. "He _really_ likes being tied up. Don't ask me how I know that."

The pair observed silently as the undead conjured a bright green flame in his palm and drew the flame out, gesturing and whispering under his breath until it took on the shape of a small blade. The fire was pale as he cut through their chains and shackles, deeper emerald as he cut the ropes binding their arms and wrists last.

The remnants of the Forsaken's lips turned down in a slight grimace as he caught sight of Arastel's welted neck, the thin cut left by the whip now seeping blood. "Gross," he muttered as he slid the grimy chain over the elf's head.

Without another word, the warlock took off down the tunnel he'd arrived by, leading them along in his uneven slouch. There was no light but for the green flame in his hand, and more than once Gurok and his rogue stumbled over the remains of massive rats, chunks of stone fallen from the ceiling, or human bones that were brittle with age.

Once again, Gurok couldn't keep track of all the twists and turns, the doubling back and the hidden flights of stairs. The catacombs and tunnels seemed labyrinthine, intended to confuse and entrap the unfamiliar.

"Quiet now," Geoffry whispered to them once they reached a corridor that had a slightly more inhabited feel to it than all the levels below.

They crept along the inner wall of the curved tunnel. The orc felt moss and mold and cold slime brush his shoulders and arm, the scents of water and death overpowering.

When the warlock came to a sudden stop, Gurok nearly trod right over him. He took a deep breath in indignation and instantly regretted it- the air itself seemed to have a taste, and it settled thickly on his tongue. The warlock nudged and shoved until the three of them were tucked together in a little alcove, uncomfortably close.

"Cover your damn eyes, elf," the undead hissed, just loud enough to be audible. "Or do some shadow thing. Glowing like a pair of fireflies over here."

Arastel grumbled briefly and then did whatever it was rogues did to conceal themselves, the shadows themselves seeming to weave tighter about him. The luminousness of his eyes diminished, and for a brief moment even Gurok had trouble differentiating him from the darkness around them.

Down the hall came the muffled sounds of footsteps, even and unhurried. The orc shrank against the wall as the warm glow of torchlight approached, briefly painting the grey stone walls white-orange. Seven undead walked in the light- four bearing torches, two bearing arms, and one holding nothing except for a large tome bound in red-tinged leather.

"What is that?" Gurok asked in a whisper, his eyes following the slow procession of undead as they turned and advanced down another hall.

"The names of the fallen," the warlock said with a grim sort of reverence. "They're being taken to the hall of records to be added to the book of the dead. Their existence won't be forgotten there," he rattled quietly, his voice trailing off. "Now come on."

He and Arastel followed Geoffry up and up, through more tunnels and winding stairs and abandoned sewers until at last the undead allowed them to stop.

The room was bleak, as much of the Undercity was. Moth-eaten tapestries still clung to the walls here, relics of a past that seemed ages ago now. More surprising to Gurok, the room had a _window_. Were they in a tower, part of the above-ground castle?

"We'll wait here," Geoffry announced as he settled in. "I imagine our friendly succubus is throwing a fit right about now, and Ortok will probably be informed of your disappearance within a few minutes. They'll search the city from bottom to top... but by then you should be gone. Heh! That'll be Crixis with your belongings," the warlock said as the cackling chortle of an imp began to echo up the stairs outside the door.

A knee-high demon scurried in through the entry, its vicious face screwed up with effort as it heaved one of Gurok's large axes behind. "Could only get one of them, Boss," the imp told the undead as it cast off the load on its back.

"One is more than I could have hoped for," the orc said gratefully as he stooped to pick up his weapon. He ran his fingers appreciatively along the blade, already comforted by its weight in his hand.

Arastel seemed similarly pleased to find his daggers and belt of poisons returned to him. Only one bag of their gifted rations from Valsann had made it back, however, and only one pouch of gold. Gurok briefly allowed himself to mourn the loss of his pauldrons. His shoulders felt uncomfortably exposed without them.

The pair watched in stunned silence as the warlock plucked up the bag containing their money and poured half of their gold into his own coinpurse. "You won't object, certainly," he said with confidence. "If not for me, you wouldn't have two coppers between you, heh."

"Help yourself," Arastel said dryly, snatching back the pouch of coins when the warlock had finished claiming his share. He tied it to his belt with a series of knots and then gave the warlock a dubious look. "So, how exactly do you propose we flee the city?"

Geoffry shrugged carelessly. "Silvermoon, right? Just so happens I know someone that could take you there," the undead said with a toothy smile- they were black at the edges, and yellowed everywhere else. "An orc, if that makes you more comfortable. I made her a potion not too long ago- changes her into a dragon. The things that those Tol'vir came up with, am I right? I could be persuaded to call on her to carry you both there, speedy and safe," he said airily, "if the right reward was offered."

"Persuaded?" Arastel asked skeptically. "We've come an awful long way to still need to _persuade_ you for aid... What would you have of us?"

Gurok misliked it all. Things were happening quickly, too quickly for him to decide what the safest course of action was. He felt like a kodo during the spring round-up, prodded and herded along until only one path was left. Truer and truer the words 'trust no one' seemed by the minute. But did they have a choice now? Ortok was mad, he was no doubt furious, and he and his shadows would hunt them through the city and across the glade if given the chance.

"Got any sisters?" Geoffry asked the elf eagerly.

"No sisters nor any brothers," the rogue replied flatly. He crossed his arms and surveyed the warlock coolly, eyebrows raised as he awaited a new demand.

"A sin'dorei with no siblings?" the Forsaken asked curiously. "Seems like they've all got at least one, living or dead. Heh."

"My father died not long after I was born," Arastel said, his voice tight and stiff. "Little time for having other children."

"Shame," Geoffry muttered, his gaze falling to the floor. "Friend of mine's got sisters, all of 'em gorgeous, but the last time I paid them a visit one of 'em set me aflame. Not figuratively, mind you. And while I appreciate a little spark in my ladies, that was a bit too much. Heh. Had to get new robes. Well, 'new', in the sense that I took them off some dead guy. A _real_ dead guy. I killed him. For his clothes."

The warlock grabbed a fistful of the fabric and stretched it out for them to better see.

"It is a... it's a lovely purple," the elf said diplomatically, pointedly ignoring the dark stains of blood and ichor that dotted it. "So, our time runs short. How else might you be persuaded?" he asked impatiently.

"Got any of those new fortune cards?"

"I'm afraid not. I doubt you'd want anything regarding 'fortune' coming from _us_, either," he said dully. Gurok was inclined to agree, his shoulders sagging glumly as he thought of how awry their trip had already gone.

The warlock swore, the sound harsh and guttural. "You two aren't making this easy. How can I help you when there's nothing in it for me?" he sighed.

"Out of the kindness of your putrid heart?" the elf ventured. "For friendship? For all that is sweet and just? For the gold you just pilfered from us," he offered dryly.

"Might be I could do it for the faint resemblance," the warlock muttered, cupping his rotting chin and squinting at Arastel. "The friend with the sisters, he's got hair about the same color as yours. That reddish brown. But you're prettier- he's old and has that sallow look that living warlocks get, you know. You've got those big eyes and that cute little nose and all those freckles. A real shame you've got no sisters..."

Gurok didn't like the warlock's leer, and he didn't anticipate good things happening if the undead decided he was willing to settle for Arastel.

"Hey now," the undead said, his jaw momentarily going slack. "No sisters, but you had to get those sweet looks from somewhere, right? Your mother can't be too old now, and she's single-"

"She still loves my father-"

"So she's already got a thing for dead men. Good," the warlock said matter-of-factly. "You don't have to give me her hand, heh. Just... say you survive all this sodding elf business. Let me come pay a visit, get to know her. I'm missing some parts, yeah, but I'm working on replacing them. Still got my tongue. That should be enough to please any-"

"Stop, stop, stop," Arastel insisted. "Stop whatever you were about to suggest, I don't need to hear it. My mother hates me as it is."

"Okay, okay, then tell her _not_ to sleep with me. She'll do the opposite," he said with a lipless grin.

"I don't think... I'm quite certain that wouldn't work," the elf stammered out, his face reddening. "I can't... no, not with my mother-"

"Eh, then take a flying leap from the tower for all I care," the warlock muttered, waving the both of them off. "Try to do a good deed and look where it gets me," he lamented to his imp.

Gurok groaned and gave Arastel an apologetic look for what he was about to suggest. "There's no harm in trying, is there? For the sake of saving ourselves the fate of Ortok catching us again? We'll bring it up with her, and if she says no, she says no, right?" he asked, glancing to the Forsaken for confirmation.

Geoffry nodded vigorously to reassure the rogue. "I'm a _perfect_ gentleman. And I can take a hint. I'll pop by for tea and if she's not that into me I'll head out without her even needing to set me aflame. You can chaperone, of course," he offered to the elf.

Arastel swallowed thickly, and by the working of his jaw the orc knew he must be grinding his teeth. "I resent this, just so you know," he told the Forsaken with a venomous glare. "_Deeply_. In spite of all your aid, I find myself wanting to hurl you from the parapets and watch you splatter across the ground," he said in stiff, affronted tones.

The warlock grinned as he shambled closer and laid a bony hand on the elf's shoulder. "See? We're already like step-father and son, you and I."

"Gurok," the rogue said in a strangled voice, his arms rigidly straight and his fists clenched. He shook in place, his rage constrained by the knowledge that their lives were in the strange warlock's hands.

"Well, now that that's sorted out, can we escape?" the orc asked as he gingerly lifted the undead's arm by the wrist and removed his fleshless hand from Arastel, slightly easing the elf's displeasure.

"Huh, right. Probably should. Go get Drezna," the warlock told his imp, who scurried off across the floor with a speed that made Gurok's flesh crawl.

"And you... how are you going to manage with Ortok on the warpath?" the warrior asked as they secured their meager possessions to their bodies and began the nervous wait. "Surely he'll suspect you."

"You concern is touching," Geoffry said with a dark chuckle. "So you would be, what... my step-son-in-law?" he asked with a squint.

"Stop that," Arastel interjected, stepping around the warrior. "You stop that right now," he demanded, jabbing a finger into the warlock's chest.

"Relax, sonny. I approve of your boyfriend, even if he is an orc," the warlock rasped, patting the rogue on the head absently and then returning his attention to Gurok. "Ortok is like a small child that's gotten hold of an axe. It's kinda cute for a little while so you let them have their fun, but at some point you need to be the responsible adult and backhand the little shit until they cry just from _looking_ at an axe. I intend to remind him that he's no Gul'dan, no great master of demons or lord of the Undercity, just a sad little orc pup that preys on the weak and thinks that makes him strong. He's not the only one with... associates," he added in a low voice, and for the first time Gurok saw the cloaked Forsaken as something truly ominous, a warlock to be reckoned with. "He won't bother you again when I've finished here."

The rogue beside him pursed his lips, his expression uncertain. "You could have carried out whatever plans you had for Ortok without helping us," he stated.

"I could have," Geoffry agreed. He cocked his head at the elf and smiled again. "You really do remind me of him. Especially when you frown."

"Please don't harass my mother," Arastel responded flatly.

The warlock guffawed so hard that Gurok feared a half rotten organ might be spewed out onto the floor. "Yeah, substitute 'sisters' for 'mother' and you've got him to the letter. Oh, heh, that'll be Drezna at the window. Drezna! Down here, you big scaly beast."

An irate hiss issued from the mouth of the golden-skinned drake, whose beady amber eyes betrayed a great deal of consternation at being addressed as a 'scaly beast'. The orc-turned-dragon hovered as close to the stone tower as her great wingspan allowed. Her voice was dry and grating, like sand caught between two grindstones. "Geoffry, this is the last favor-"

"Get them to Silvermoon, don't let any rats see them," the Forsaken said hurriedly, his head whipping back around toward the stairs that lay beyond the room's entrance. "Quickly, I smell felhunters."

That was all the encouragement Gurok and Arastel needed. The orc tried not to doubt, because it was far too late for that. Their hopes- their lives, really- were pinned entirely upon a Forsaken warlock with an unnatural lust for elven women and a shapeshifted orc-dragon. _So much for trusting no one_, he thought bleakly as he followed Arastel's lead and stepped up onto the ledge of the tall window.

They were hundreds of feet up in the air. The warrior's stomach flopped uneasily as his balance wavered for a moment. Drezna hovered a good five feet away, slightly below them. Her scales glittered in the moonlight, though nothing gleamed quite so much as the shards of amber stone that jutted out from the drake's skin, short but pointed. _Those_ worried the warrior.

"Are you ready to jump, Gurok?" the elf asked, finding the orc's hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

"No," Gurok admitted, his head swimming as he spared another glance down. He thought briefly of the canyon in Stonetalon and the overlord that had plummeted to his death. "But I'm going to anyway."

Arastel nodded. "You go first," he whispered against he wind, his hand on the warrior's back to stabilize him. "I'll be right behind you."

The orc leapt from the window before he could think to second guess himself. The seconds drew out painfully as he fell in a short arc, arms outstretched and legs swinging, the weightless feeling making his insides twist and flutter as if they, too, were free-falling.

Gurok's plummeting stomach was abruptly stopped when he hit the drake's back, _hard_. He gasped for air and scrabbled to gain purchase on Drezna's rocky back, using the amber spikes to lever himself up properly. A moment later he felt and heard Arastel's light thud behind him, then the sharp inhale as the light elf quickly began to slide down her sandpapery sides.

"No, no, no," Gurok muttered as he grabbed a fistful of fabric on the rogue's back and hoisted him up onto the drake's back, groaning from the strain on his bad shoulder. He got the elf situated behind him, relatively safe and secure on the saddleless mount- and the orc didn't have time to say another word before Arastel had wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed so hard that air became a concern.

"Hold on now. And no... _touching_ while you're on me, either," the drake growled as she flapped her wings harder, the sudden downward thrust sending them higher into the air. In a matter of seconds, the ruins of Lordaeron lay far below them, looking small enough to be held in hand.

* * *

In a different situation- one without a third of their party being transformed into a dragon and the other two-thirds sitting astride her- Gurok thought Drezna would have been just his type of company. She was brusque, yes, but not without a certain amiability.

She was a mage, they found, and worked heavily out of the Undercity. Gurok still couldn't imagine how she and Geoffry had met and established any sort of working relationship- they seemed miles apart in terms of personality, after all- but didn't want to pry. He could tell the mage valued her privacy and likely had lots of secrets, none of which needed to be shared with them.

"The Ghostlands," she announced to her passengers as they cleared a range of low mountains, the ground before them unfolding in the darkness.

Moonlight caught on the mists below, but wherever the fog was thin, Gurok could see lifeless earth turned black from the Scourge. Not the same black as fertile soil and silt... a shade colder and more lifeless, black like the night sky.

"To your left, you'll see the Springroad, passage to the glorious city of Silvermoon," Arastel whispered in his ear, using the too-cheery tone of the goblin zeppelin-masters as they pointed out sights during long journeys. "And to your right, the ruins of an entire people. Augh, I wish we still had that bag of peanuts," he groaned as an afterthought.

The warrior could feel the elf's stomach gurgle and growl against his back and laughed, although when he looked down and saw the ruined towers and abandoned homes in the wastes below them, it seemed wrong to.

He knew when they'd reached Eversong- the ground shimmered with grass and life, pale light catching on the dewed blades, trees with thick foliage dotting the landscape. There were buildings with red-tiled rooftops and tall, twisting spires, paved roads illuminated by lamplight.

The edges of Drezna's broad wings rippled and fluttered as she descended, now gliding just high enough to scrape the tops of the tallest trees. "I cannot fly you into the city itself, not with the wards up," she explained as tall, pale walls came into sight. Watchfires, both magical and mundane, dotted the tops of the city's defenses, silhouetting the patrolling guards as they passed in front of them.

"Outside the city is perfect," Arastel answered for the both of them. "Somewhere... dark, if you don't mind."

The drake rumbled beneath them in reply, her head ducking low as she sought a place to land.

She chose the bank of a narrow river east of the city, covered in dark, springy grass that reminded Gurok of Mulgore. The orc slid from her back first, grimacing as rocky scales scratched his front and let a long scrape up his breastplate. He then reached up to help Arastel down, bearing his weight so that the elf's smaller, leather-clad form wasn't too battered by the drake's rough skin.

The rogue gave his good shoulder a squeeze once his toes touched the ground. The quick touch left Gurok wanting more- a hug, a massage, a kiss, anything really- but time was short and Arastel was moving on before the orc could even finish the thought.

He followed slowly after the elf as he rounded Drezna's long body to reach her front, meeting her even amber-eyed gaze as she swiveled her draconic head to face them. "Thank you, my lady," Arastel said with a grin and a half-bow, clearly amused to be addressing an orc in a drake's body.

Drezna's stone-studded brow furrowed, but she let his impish smiling pass. "Will you be needing a distraction?" she asked as she stretched out her wings from the long flight.

"No," the rogue said as he checked his belt and pockets over, making certain necessary supplies were still there. "I can handle that much."

"Good," the drake replied. With a sudden, ringing pop and a poof of sand and smoke, the great drake before them vanished and was replaced by a slender orc in indigo robes that bared a good deal of chest. Though her eyes had been amber as a drake, they were now a sort of grayish-brown, paler than what Gurok was used to seeing on orcs. And her bare arms, while not as muscular as most females, still spoke of strength-

The warrior jumped as he felt Arastel pinch him hard on the side, his quick fingers having found a way up underneath his armor and leather. "What?" he asked in alarm, trying to shuffle away from the angry elf and his pincers.

"_It's rude to stare_," the rogue said in a hiss, leaning in an giving the orc a dark look. Then he turned back to the mage, tilting his head in apology. "I'm sorry. Thank you for everything, and if you see that... warlock," Arastel said with a grimace, as if merely thinking of Geoffry put a bad taste in his mouth, "let him know that we owe him... _I_ owe him," he sighed.

"He needs no reminding," Drezna said with a half-shrug. "He doesn't forget debts.. .or promises." Her smile was knowing, her expression mildly amused as she shook out her limbs before taking a swig of a golden vial and turning back into her drake-like form.

"Yes, yes," the rogue replied. "Thank you again. You're infinitely better than a zeppelin. Say goodbye, Gurok," he added, giving the orc a hard nudge in the side.

"Goodbye," the warrior rumbled as he rubbed at the tender spot that the elf kept gunning for. "You have our thanks. Be careful on the return-"

"She's a _dragon_, she'll be fine," Arastel huffed, pulling the orc along impatiently.

"She's not an actual dragon," Gurok argued as they headed for the heavy shadows cast by the great outer wall. He turned to wave goodbye, but Drezna had already launched into the air, and turned south. "Just an orc."

"You would know, eyeing her up like that," the elf said, glancing over at him sidelong.

A long moment passed before the warrior chuckled lowly, feeling something akin to pride lighting inside him. "Is that why you're upset?"

"I'm not upset. What makes you think that I'm upset," the rogue growled, snapping a twig from a tree as he passed it and breaking it apart inch by inch.

"You're jealous," Gurok murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Possessive." He felt a sudden surge of desire, a need for the elf's hands on him and their faces close. Arastel was acting as though they'd had the ritual joining that bound a pair together before their ancestors, as if a shaman had already pronounced them one. He was acting like a newly joined _life-mate_, fiercely and irrationally territorial over his claimed partner... and that pleased Gurok more than he could express. "And you're _certain_ you've no orcish blood?"

Though he looked reluctant about it, the rogue smiled. His angry paces slowed until he was barely moving at all, just sort of teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet as he considered Gurok. "Am I that bad?"

The orc laughed and tugged him along by the elbow, still nursing that ache to have him close. "I was just looking. And not in a... not in any way that means _anything_," he assured the elf. The warrior slid his hand down Arastel's back, wrapping it around his hip and pulling him close to his side while they walked. "But I like seeing you like that," he admitted. "You looked like... you wanted to punch me and kiss me at the same time. Could do without the pinching, though."

The elf hummed softly at that and leaned in against him. "I once gouged out a paladin's eye with one of his ribs. Just remember that when we're in Red Row and a dozen whores are throwing themselves at you," he murmured sweetly, stretching up to press a kiss to the underside of the warrior's jaw before he flitted off ahead to scout out the gate.

Gurok grinned crookedly and followed.

* * *

Slipping past the guards at the front had been easy enough. With a hastily made slingshot, Arastel simply waited until the pre-dawn carts began to roll up to the city, piled high with produce and eggs and dairy for the early morning market.

A single well-placed shot to the rickety back wheel of a cabbage cart sent the green vegetables tumbling away and the guards posted at the entrance scrambled to help the frantic farmer collect the least damaged. In the chaos, the pair slipped inside, hugging the tall, beautifully painted walls until they could safely be taken for harmless adventurers that had arrived by more usual means.

"If Niandra's still in charge I'd say the guards are likely free of Arcelia's taint," the elf whispered as he pretended to be interested in a display of knitted hats with holes for long elven ears, "but she's had rats get in before... can't hurt us to be a little more cautious. Undercity was a little..."

"Yeah, let's not do that again," Gurok agreed, taking the elf's hand loosely in his own. Dawn seemed to be on the verge of arrival, and the realization that they'd made it through the night heartened the warrior.

Arastel's eyes crinkled with a smile as he squeezed the orc's palm. "Now follow me," he said.

The city was wide and clean and sprawling, unlike any of the other capitals of the Horde. If anything, it seemed more gleaming and well-tended than when he had last visited. Arastel led him through more massive gates, the darkened corridors lit with brilliant braziers, and paths lined with meticulously sculpted trees. Gurok was about to ask where they were headed when he noticed the walls and buildings take on a bold, unrelenting shade of red.

"I remember this place."

"It's a hard one to forget," Arastel agreed, squinting at the loud color that screamed from every corner.

They passed elves of every look and size along the way, but all wore at least some article of clothing in a dark, honey-yellow that shimmered in the red lamp-light. More than once Gurok felt soft hands squeeze his upper arms or slide against the bare sliver of skin that peeked through between the bottom of his breastplate and the top of his pants, eager for one last customer before day broke.

Arastel got a handful of invitations as well, but far fewer of the streetside prostitutes seemed willing to risk a playful touch. His mask and daggers seemed as off-putting here as they had been in the Undercity.

"I think... just in case, if we are somehow being tailed," the elf murmured against the mask drawn across his face, "it might be wiser not to head straight for the one Valsann said. Lay over for a few hours somewhere else then slip out."

"Okay," the orc agreed readily. "Then... where?"

Arastel glanced at him, his eyes teasing. "Your pick," he said nonchalantly, daring the warrior to choose.

"Oh no," Gurok snorted. "Not after earlier. _You_ pick and I'll stare at a wall. I like my ribs and my eyes where they are, thanks," he said with a grunt.

"Smart orc," the rogue answered, a grin in his voice. He tried to wriggle his fingers up between the gap in Gurok's armor again, but the orc slapped his hand and the intended pinch became more of a tickle.

"Hurry up or I _will_ pick, and it'll be the one with the most topless elves-"

Arastel shot him a glare that could have quailed him, had the orc not seen the corners of his eyes just barely squinting with a genuine smile.

The rogue spun in place, surveying the nearest brothels until he made up his mind. That settled, he gestured to the warrior and began heading in the direction of one in a blaring shade of vermillion. The establishment he picked was large and had a well-tended flowerbox out front, the tall green stems dotted with dozens upon dozens of tiny red blossoms.

The inside was, unfortunately, painted just as blindingly bright. Gurok felt as though he was stuck in a permanent squint; even Arastel seemed to be second-guessing his choice. They approached the front desk and rang the little bell sitting beside a decorative statue of a dragonhawk. The warrior realized he didn't know the name of this brothel and speculated about whether or not it was dragonhawk related.

"We need a room," the rogue said flatly, already pulling out a dozen gold coins. "Just until noon."

"Of course," the buxom elf behind the counter replied. She was far older than most elves that Gurok had seen, though she seemed to have held up well through the years. Her eyes were large and playful, and against his better judgment, the orc already found himself liking her. "One with a big bed for our big friend," she said with a wink.

Gurok smiled crookedly, though it quick became a grimace when he felt Arastel pinch him hard on the side.

"And company?" the owner asked with a brief flutter of her heavy lashes.

"We have no need of any," Arastel said with a quick shake of his head.

"A shame. It seems like we get fewer of you now," she sighed to the warrior as she grabbed a set of keys and led them up a set of stairs. "And after I spent thousands of gold renovating this place... twelve rooms with orc and tauren proof beds, all for naught," she complained as they reached a heavy oaken door with an eight emblazoned across it in gold leaf.

"Thanks," they said in unison as she gave them a brief curtsey and headed back down to her desk.

It was a far cry from what Gurok was used to, but he liked it. A thick carpet covered the tiled floor and the walls were mercifully neutral in color. The only accents of red were in the drapery and the bedspread.

"I thought you said Silvermoon wasn't made with orcs in mind," Gurok grinned, pressing his weight down on the sturdy bed and mattress. He bounced a little, testing it- not even a creak.

"The brothels are a world apart," the elf insisted, flinging a plump pillow at the orc's head.

"So, what will we do for these few hours?" the warrior asked, his gruff voice teasing. "Stay on guard, vigilant for any pursuers?"

"That _is_ what we should do," the elf said flatly, thoroughly dashing Gurok's hopes. Until he slipped off his mask and grinned. "But what we _will_ do is see how much these beds can really withstand," he purred. "Just keep your axe close," he advised with a slight smirk as he hung his belt and daggers over the headboard.

* * *

Gurok could have stayed past noon. He could've slept until dinner, and then slept some more. It was the hardest thing in the world to roll himself off of that wonderful bed, warm from their heat, firm while still remaining heavenly soft, sheets as smooth as running water. It was luxury that he wasn't accustomed to- even the brothels he'd stayed at before had been on the cheaper side, with cotton bedspreads of dubious cleanliness- and it was agony to leave after such a short taste.

"Up, Gurok," the elf laughed as he pushed and prodded the warrior until he sat up and put his feet on the floor.

At least Arastel was in better spirits now, apparently content now that'd renewed his claim on the orc. Gurok's lips quirked to the side as he checked himself briefly in the mirror- little love bites dotted his neck, too high up to conceal. He had a sneaking suspicion it was intentional, though he didn't see what good such a statement did in a red district.

After a quick wash of his face in the basin in the corner of the room, Gurok slipped on his clothes- in need of a washing themselves- and gathered his things. They left the brothel, the orc waving goodbye to the elven hostess and Arastel rolling his eyes, and the warrior made a mental note that it was called The Long Serpent.

Andorel had scribbled directions onto the corner of the envelope that Arastel now pulled out of his vest, crumpled and a bit wilted from moisture and sweat. The elven priest's fine hand was still legible, though, and they followed his directions to an elegant establishment named The Crimson Swan, where they asked the young elf behind the counter for a brothelworker named Jeth.

"Oh," the blond behind the counter said as he penciled something into the ledger to avoid any overlapping of visitors, "he'll be glad to hear that. Upstairs, second to last door on the right. He may not be quite... presentable yet. It is a bit of an off hour," the elf said apologetically.

"We understand," Arastel replied with a nod. "Our timing isn't great," he said as he dumped a good two dozen coins out on the table to pay for the room.

The elf behind the counter scooped it up with a smile and nodded them onward. "Dinner comes complimentary to overnight guests. Check out is by eleven, although there's a small late fee if you'd rather take your time. We hope you enjoy yourselves here at the Swan," he said as he gestured toward the staircase that divided the entrance from a small dining area.

Gurok felt oddly aware of the axe strapped to his back as they trudged up the steps. Arastel and his daggers. He hoped they wouldn't frighten whatever poor elf Andorel was trying to shove them onto. And he wondered what they would do if this Jeth decided he wanted no part in their scheme.

Arastel rapped on the heavy, cherry-stained door and took a deep breath, the crimson envelope held firmly in his other hand.

The orc was listening for the sound of movement within, steps across the floor, but there was noise to prepare them for the sudden opening of the door.

Jeth was slender wisp of an elf with large eyes and delicate features. He appeared to have just rolled out of bed, a gold silken robe wrapped about him and his red-tinted hair sloppily tied back.

"I usually have a little break between two bells and sundown," he complained as he leaned against the doorframe. Gurok could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he considered them, a glint of eagerness appearing in his eyes. "But I'm more than willing to make an exception. _Both_ of you, hm? And one an orc... I certainly won't be able to see anyone else tonight."

"Perhaps you should read this first," Arastel said quickly, producing the sealed envelope before the warrior at his side could turn any darker with embarrassment. "May we come in?"

"Oh, certainly," Jeth replied with a smile sweet as honey. "The bed isn't made yet. You can seat yourselves on the chaise, if you like, or one of the pillows, and I'll go read this," he said as he picked at the wax on the envelope, an intrigued but dubious smile crossing his lips. "Such an interesting start. The ones that come with games in mind are always fun," he muttered as he wandered into the bathroom adjoining his bedroom.

Gurok shared an uneasy look with his rogue, wondering what their reception would be like when the elf had finished the letter.

"Be ready to run," Arastel mouthed at him, his mask briefly pulled down. His lips straightened into a bloodless line as he pulled the cloth back up to his nose and settled in for the wait.

The orc hoped it wouldn't come to that. He was tired of running. And where could they go in this city? Arastel had no surplus of friends to call on, was doubtful even of his father's family. They were alone but for a letter and the hope in Valsann's ties.

Gurok tried studying the room to set his mind at ease. It was even more lushly furnished than the brothel room they'd had this morning, with an assortment of floor pillows and drapes that ran all the way to the floor. The bed looked large enough to comfortably hold four, and it probably had- and on either side were vases of sunflowers and peacebloom, the glass containers blending well with the myriad jars and vials neatly ordered on the bedside tables.

Then Jeth appeared at the bathroom door just as suddenly and quietly as before, his silk robe exchanged for a soft cotton shirt and plain brown pants lined with yellow satin. His full lips were curved down in displeasure as he glared at the two of them.

"Arastel Sunsworn." Jeth crossed the room in three long steps and flipped the rogue's hood back, his scowl deepening as he studied the elf before him.

"The pleasure is all mine," Arastel said weakly.

"It would have to be," the prostitute said with a sharp smile, "for there is certainly none on _my_ part. And I'd had such high hopes when I saw you two," he sighed, hand over his heart as he briefly lamented the sex that could have been.

"You read the letter?" Gurok asked.

Jeth's gaze flitted to him before returning to the other elf, eyes raking over him, taking him in anew. "Yes, I read it. Would that I had burned it instead," he muttered. "What was he thinking, sending me Arastel Sunsworn? Some thought you dead. Or _hoped_, rather."

"Do you count yourself among that number?" the rogue asked, his voice even and faintly curious. Gurok felt him shift as he must've reached to thumb a concealed knife.

"Who cares what a whore thinks," Jeth replied nonchalantly as he tossed the letter onto a bedside table. "But since you asked... I harbor little love for your ilk. Slitting throats to the tune of the nobles' song is more soulless than anything_ I've_ ever done, to be sure. Our brothels are paying her twice what they did two years ago, and woe to any whore that thinks to sell themselves without giving Arcelia her dues."

"I am not her creature anymore," Arastel said softly, relaxing just a bit, "and I mean to remove her."

The prostitute's smile was cold. "Out of the kindness of your black heart, for all the spit-upon whores forced to hand over our gold to her, I'm certain."

"I never said that," the dyed-brunet huffed. "My reasons are my own, but good will come of it for others. Yourself included."

"And danger," the redheaded elf replied. "Risk." He bit his lip, his large eyes turning doleful for a moment. "Andoreah grew tired of turning the gold from every third customer over to Arcelia's brutes. She paid her share to the Crimson Swan and then struck out on the streets to recoup her losses... They staked her to the ground, naked, and whipped her bloody. Then they left her to the tender mercy of Murder Row. So what do you think they would do to the one caught harboring _you_? And forget Arcelia, what about the people you've wronged? The blood you shed that begs to be repaid? One measly whore makes for a poor shield."

"We will not let any harm come to you, and you will be well rewarded," Arastel said. "Surely Valsann told you-"

Jeth waved the words off. "Yes, I know what he promised. But promises... I have had a thousand promises whispered to me," the elf said quietly. "Your words mean little and less."

Gurok cleared his throat. He didn't know if he had the words in him to sway an elf, but there was something in the slim prostitute's demeanor that seemed... angry. Not at them, at least not entirely. Bitter anger, old anger, the sort that that is seeded by fear but grows to replace it. "You are not wrong to be wary. But if we succeed, if you help... what happened to your friend need not happen to anyone else." The redheaded elf stiffened, and for one short-lived moment, his fury was plain on his face. Then it was hidden again, concealed under layers of apathy and coolness, contrived and careful loftiness. "For now, we are just two visitors to your brothel. I'm a nameless sellsword, and he's just a rogue." he smiled crookedly. "Would you have taken him for Arastel?"

Jeth quirked his lips sourly, looking annoyed. "You _do_ look different. That hair is a travesty. Did Val do it? He's always been terrible at dye jobs. Gave my hair orange stripes, once. The customers started calling me 'Tabby'. We'll need to fix that proper," he said, pushing his fingers through Arastel's hair, "if we're to keep you undiscovered. Especially when her cronies come to collect," he added with a slight sneer.

"You're going to help us?" Gurok asked, half out of surprise and half looking for confirmation.

The prostitute gave him a quick glance and a fleeting smile. "I can _never_ say no to Val. Let me send to the kitchens for some food for you," Jeth sighed. "And I hope you brought me gold. I certainly can't entertain anyone tonight, not unless they like having an audience. Well, actually..." he muttered, apparently giving that thought some consideration.

"Fifty gold," Arastel said before they could be wrangled into some voyeuristic endeavor. "Fifty for each night we impose upon your hospitality."

"Fifty?" Jeth smiled, albeit reluctantly. "That's not terrible. Give me a moment, I'll be back."

Gurok was relieved, but Arastel was still suspicious. He checked the room over quickly, lifting the glass jars and vials that stored liquids of various colors and consistencies, sloshing them around or tentatively sniffing after uncorking them. He rifled through drawers and peeked under the bed, and then the rogue herded Gurok near the drape-covered window and waited the other elf's return with hands resting on his daggers, prepared for some betrayal.

And the warrior couldn't fault him. For all they knew, Jeth had run to some minion of Arcelia's. Surely there would be some handsome reward for such an act...

But the redheaded elf returned with a tray of food as he'd promised, and aside form arching a shapely brow at Arastel's stance he made no comment on their lack of trust. "You're lucky. The cook found a pair of swordfish for cheap earlier. Normally it's mutton or whatever poultry Splithoof manages to catch," he said as he set up a tea table and laid out their meals on top of it.

The brothel's kitchens had produced two large, shallow bowls steaming with food- the sight alone was enough to make Gurok's mouth water, and the smell was something foreign and enticing. Oversized meatballs of minced fish and spices swam in a pale sauce of cream and tomatoes, accompanied by a pale brown grain that reminded the orc of barley. With the meal, Jeth produced a bottle of white wine and a pitcher of water.

The warrior said his thanks and set down upon a tall pillow, eager to eat, until a gesture from Arastel stopped him.

Jeth saw it too, and his smile immediately took on a more pleased note. "Examine it as you will, Sunsworn," he offered cordially. "You'll find it's all... palatable."

The rogue's gaze slipped from the whore to the food, turning each bowl as he studied the contents. He sniffed carefully, pinched up pieces of grain between his fingers, then finally tasted a tiny bit of each item. At last he seemed convinced, and he gave Gurok a nod.

The orc's eagerness was somewhat tempered by the display, but he was still voracious and wolfed down his own portion and a third of Arastel's. The rogue seemed far more interested in staring at Jeth than eating; had Gurok not been certain that reminding him of the rudeness of staring would result in the elf taking back his bowl, he'd have pinched him on the side.

"I trust you have a plan for all of this," Jeth asked from the bed that he lay draped across. His tone was dubious.

Arastel straightened up. "I have a... an idea of what needs to happen," he said with a soft cough.

Jeth shut his eyes and began to rub small circles on his temples. "You've no idea what you're doing and Valsann sends you to me," the prostitute sighed. "This is why I have a policy of not becoming indebted to anyone now," he grumbled as rolled his eyes and grabbed up a small bag from a drawer under the bed. The elf stared at them disinterestedly as he began eating sunflower seeds one at a time.

The rogue sat, sullen and silent as Gurok scraped up the last of his food and Jeth crunched on the small seeds. "So... where will we be sleeping?" the orc asked after a solid minute of uncomfortable silence had passed.

"Here, of course," the prostitute grinned, patting the bed beside him. "For appearances. You're my guests, aren't you? And for fifty gold a night you can feel free to involve me anytime you'd like," he added. "But I like being tipped."

Gurok smiled uncertainly and thumped his heels against the floor a few times, anxious to do something other than stew in this awkward atmosphere. "Can we have a look around? A tour?"

"Everyone's sleeping now, usually," the redhead replied with a half-shrug. "Or getting ready. I can _tell_ you, though. Next room over is Sugar," Jeth said with a brief frown. "She's pleasant enough, but don't go telling her who you are- she'll bear our friend here no love," he said, looking pointedly to Arastel, who glowered as he curled in on himself. "And for conversational purposes, Arastel is my childhood friend Leyden, and this is your partner... Rorc? Is that orcish enough?" he asked.

"It will serve," Gurok agreed.

"Good. Sugar'll look after you anytime I'm not around, which shouldn't be terribly often. And if she's otherwise occupied, there's Splithoof down the stairs. He's Sugar's man, so watch your mouth around him. He doesn't take kindly to anyone besmirching his lady or her profession. Lorla is across the hall, and Ibal is the one down on the end. Don't bother with him, he's insufferable."

"Splithoof... a tauren?" Gurok asked, heartened at the possibility. Some company that wasn't elvish had taken on an appealing air after the sudden immersion of Silvermoon.

Jeth nodded as he picked a bit of sunflower seed from his teeth. "I'm sure he'd be glad to talk to a couple of new folks," the elf said. "Just remember. Rorc. Leyden. Keep your pasts to yourselves and you can't get caught in any sticky lies. Make small talk, keep it light. Please don't get me killed by being idiots," he finished with a pleading shake of his head.

* * *

Tolso Splithoof was a tauren of great height and wide berth, with horns that stretched nearly a yard across. His thick, shaggy fur was a near black shade of brown, and his mane and beard were woven with bells and brilliantly dyed strands of spun wool.

Over two mugs of ale, the boisterous tauren regaled them with how he had left the adventuring life behind after a chance stop at the Crimson Swan, where his night with Sweets changed his life.

"Toss out the dregs and the drunks," the tauren mumbled as he cracked a nut between his teeth and then fished out the meat. "Beat the ones that get too rough with them. And make the beardless boys pay up. Rarely do I actually need my axe," he said, nodding toward the weapons rack that held the massive weapon, in addition to a set of polearms and a rifle made with large tauren fingers in mind. "I get warm meals, good beer, a soft bed, and the loving of my Sugar whenever the customers wander home. A better life than any I had out there," he said, spitting into the hearth.

Arastel smiled. "She's beautiful, and seems very kind." They had run into her on the way downstairs- a tall, willowy elf that smelled of green grass and meadowflowers. Gurok could see why the tauren might have been drawn to her.

Splithoof grinned. "She is, all that and more. If only she weren't in such high demand," he sighed. "Most times she's too tired, so we just talk and sleep. Still, that is a comfort in itself. You're friends of Jeth?" the hunter asked after he slammed a hard-shelled nut on the table, smashing it open.

Arastel nodded. "I am, though it's been a long time. Rorc is just here with me, though," he added, glancing over at the warrior.

The tauren nodded, though his attention seemed more focused on the bits of nut he was picking from the shards of shell. "Well, if you've ever got a mind to go hunting, Rorc, I could always use help for bigger game. No boar in these woods, but lynx meat sells well. Not too tough if it's cooked right," he said with a little smile, glancing up briefly at the two of them.

Gurok nodded. "I'd like that. I need to get a new bow first," he groaned. "Lost my old one off the back of a wyvern," the orc lied smoothly. It had actually been lost at some point in the tumult of Ashenvale, left lying in Hatoof's camp, he supposed.

Splithoof grimaced in sympathy. "I've got an old bow you could use. Could keep it, actually," he amended. "Nothing special. Probably on the verge of breaking, but you could give it a try. I've always been better with a gun," he explained with a shrug.

"Thanks," the warrior said with a small smile. "I can pay you for it-"

"Don't worry about it," the tauren laughed. "Damned things not worth the trouble. Just go find it in the old weapons chest behind the counter. See if you can get it back in good repair."

"I'm ready, Tolso- oh! Hey, you two," Sugar said from where she was leaning over the banister. She gave them a polite little wave of acknowledgement and then turned her attention back to the tauren. "Come get some sugar whenever you're up to it," she added in a sultry voice, winking before she slinked back up to her room.

Splithoof hastily swept the broken shells on the tabletop into a trash bin and gave them a hasty bow. "Duty calls," he grinned as he left them sitting there.

* * *

Their first night at The Crimson Swan was awkward. And not just because Jeth was there, fel eyes aglow as he tried to sleep during hours he'd normally have been up and working.

Arastel had taken it upon himself to lie in the middle, a barrier to protect his orc from any unsolicited touches or spontaneous cuddling. But he didn't actually sleep. Gurok managed a couple of hours of rest before a nightmare- all he could remember was the end, which had featured the rogue sliding inexorably toward a precipice while Gurok's legs were set like stone- suddenly jolted him awake. Before Arastel could shut his eyes to play at slumber, the orc had seen him.

Gurok was at a loss. There was no way to convince the elf that it was safe, that they could rest- it probably _wasn't_, after all. But would they ever be safe while Arcelia lived and pursued them? So he just murmured, "I'll keep watch," and wrapped his arm around the rogue, pulling him over until the elf's back was flush against his front.

His breathing never deepened and slowed with sleep, though.

Dawn came and found Jeth refreshed, as vibrant as the flowers beside his bed- blossoms that never seemed to dry or wilt, surprisingly. Gurok was tired. Arastel looked abysmal, the dark rings under his eyes once again displaying prominently.

They spent the morning lazily, and the warrior was happy for the indulgence, though he wished Arastel would have used it to try and rest rather than to sharpen his daggers for the hundredth time. Out in the hall Gurok could hear the opening and closing of a door, thumps and laughter as some patrons dragged themselves out.

After the fourth such noise, Jeth cracked his own door open and peeked out. "Sugar again," he sighed as he closed and locked it. "_I_ was the most popular one here before she came along... but you just can't compete with that," he tutted. "She's twice the whore for the same coin."

Gurok wasn't positive what that meant and didn't feel like thinking on it. He turned instead to Arastel, who was going over his poisons methodically, paying neither of the room's other two occupants any mind.

The orc let a deep breath out through his nose, wanting to pull the elf into his lap and hold him close but knowing that that would solve nothing at all. That Jeth would see was an additional deterrent.

"Rorc," Jeth said from the door, and it took a second uttering of his new name to get the warrior's attention. "Why don't you go downstairs and see who's up, maybe get us some breakfast. He and I need to have a talk," he murmured, his gaze shifting to Arastel.

Gurok was hesitant to leave the rogue alone with the elf they barely knew, but a quick nod from Arastel gave him a little assurance. "I'll be just downstairs," he said as he turned to leave.

The wizened old elf in the kitchen had already created a towering stack of thin pancakes and bowls filled with diced fruit, and while it seemed like an insubstantial breakfast to Gurok, he had to admit it tasted good. He cleaned his plate in the company of a petite elf named Lorla, who had momentarily made the orc choke on a bite of melon when she descended the staircase in nothing but a sheer nightgown that just grazed her thighs.

Aside from her lacking attire, she was good company. They ate together in silence, and when he cleared his plate and finished his honeyed milk, she wordlessly offered him her half-eaten portion.

As he thanked her and began to slice into her stack of crepes, the questions began.

"How did you get that scar on your cheek?"

"Dwarf," he said around a mouthful of berries. "Aren't you cold?"

"I don't get cold easily," she replied with a light grin. "Are you going to be like Splithoof and protect us?" she asked, batting her blonde lashes.

"Do you need protecting?" he asked back, already feeling the old tinge of concern that had driven him to be a guard in the first place.

"Not really, no. Mostly for show," Lorla answered as she leaned forward to pluck a red grape from the bowl. Gurok couldn't object, seeing as the fruit had been hers to begin with. "I keep a knife behind my headboard- a slim one from back when I used to cut coinpurses. Sugar has a pistol. Aran has this wire for garroting-"

"Have you used them?" the orc asked, taken aback.

"Once, when someone tried choking me. Then again when a troll put his tusk through my shoulder," she said, peeling back her nightgown to show him the scar- discolored skin on her back where it went in and a smaller mark on her front where it had emerged.

Gurok was almost mesmerized by it. The slender elf was among the last he'd have expected to have such a scar, such a story. "Twice you've nearly been killed," Gurok said, astounded. "You don't worry?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But the would-be killers are few and far between, and they bleed the same as anyone when you slit their throat," Lorla added with a slight smile.

Gurok mulled their conversation over as he proceeded upstairs with plates of breakfast for Jeth and Arastel. Lorla had told him that the Crimson Swan was one of the brothels that tended catered more to adventurers; also, that it had sister establishments in Dalaran and Shattrath. He was surprised to realize had stayed at the one in Shattrath once, though a drunken brawl between Horde and Alliance in the parlor had cut the night short for everyone in the building as scandalized peacekeepers arrived to escort shamefaced soldiers of both factions back to their respective commanders.

It was the Swan's penchant for entertaining rowdy adventurers that made its workers more... worldly. It was a necessary precaution, Lorla had said, an insurance against physically powerful trolls, orcs, and elves that still saw the sin'dorei as weak and ripe to be dominated.

And that was why the orc shouldn't have been so stunned to open the door and find Jeth mixing poisons with Arastel, the prostitute's hands as steady as any old alchemist's.

The redhead simply winked and went back to swirling a vile of viscous green fluid before holding it up for the rogue's approval. "Just having a little bonding moment," he assured the orc. "Nothing out of the ordinary, I promise."

Arastel turned and flashed him a smile before beckoning him closer- it seemed he was nearly as hungry as Gurok after skipping most of his meal last night in his sullen mood. And whether Jeth had chosen the right words to mollify the elf or the simple act of brewing death had brought them closer together, Arastel now seemed much more content with his company.

"That was why you checked the food," the warrior realized as he set down the plates and accompanying bowls, his gaze finding Arastel's and holding it.

The dyed-brunet nodded as he popped fruit into his mouth in between bites from the plate of crackers that was already sitting on the tea table.

Gurok's gaze drifted to the assorted vials and bottles lining the shelf, clustered on the bedside tables. He'd dismissed them so easily as just more of the blood elves' tonics and beauty potions. "Are they all...?"

"No, most of it is what you would expect," the redhead assured him. "Oils, perfumes, extracts. Mostly oils," he said with a sly smile. "I know which ones are which, though. And apparently your rogue does as well," he said approvingly. "Not a common skill, even among those who work with poisons. I have always taken care to hide my weapons well. I was impressed that he singled them out so quickly."

Arastel was smiling as he shoveled in his food, not even bothering to use a fork now.

"Don't get syrup on the sheets," Jeth said in a beleaguered voice. "Ugh, it's all over you... take a bath, please," he huffed, pointing to the bathroom. "I need to talk with our warrior now anyway."

"About what?" the rogue asked as he rose and brushed off bits of food, a hint of his old mistrust returning.

"About you," the prostitute said plainly. "Now go wash up, and for Light's sake don't touch anything. I deal with enough sticky fluids without you contributing," he snapped as he ushered the other elf into the bathroom and pulled the door shut. "Now come on, let's go outside," Jeth said to the orc.

Gurok was momentarily confused as the elf went to his window and threw aside the heavy drapes, but then he saw that the window was in fact a set of tall, glass-paned doors that led to a very small balcony overlooking the red-lined street.

There was barely enough room for the two of them to sit, and though the chairs had obviously been made with large occupants in mind, the orc still found the arms digging into his sides.

Jeth was comfortable, though, his bowl of fruit and the plate of crackers both balanced atop his crossed legs as he looked out on Red Row, the street barely occupied due to the early hour. "When I first started, I didn't work at the Swan," he said as evenly as though they were discussing the weather. "I didn't have enough gold to rent a room in a brothel, so I sold myself in the street. One night an elf slammed my face into the wall when he finished with me. Stole my gold, laughed as he took the dirk I'd had sheathed in my boot to defend myself. Then he kicked me square in the mouth for good measure."

Gurok swallowed down the crackers he'd been chewing, feeling them thick in his throat.

"I lost three teeth that night," the elf continued as he brushed crumbs off of his pants- embersilk spun and dyed into the shimmering shade of dark yellow that marked his profession. He glanced up and smiled. "My pride was considerably more shattered. Mercifully, I was taken in shortly after. Valsann sponsored me, in a way, and saw that I was given porcelain replacements. I asked that one of the molars be made to my own liking. Hollow."

"For poison," the orc murmured, quickly growing disinterested in the thought of food. Elves would be the slow, starving death of him.

Jeth nodded slowly, his expression wavering between sly and sad. "Val worked out of the Trembling Tulip, which saw both sin'dorei and Alliance customers back then. Humans are not entirely unlike the orcs and trolls we see now- many have a fondness for the look of our kind and also mistakenly think us weak, adept at nothing but warming pillows. Even then, they had a poison-master, and it was there I learned how to make a man bleed from the inside."

Distantly, Gurok heard a noise, a metallic but musical sound that rang nine or ten times. _Bells_, he realized. He was used to the bellowing horns in Orgrimmar used to mark the hours.

Jeth had paused, waiting for the ringing to cease before he continued. "Once I had a little more experience under my belt, I sought my revenge. I stood in the same dark alley for three nights, waiting. Eventually I saw him- the very elf that had left me in ruins. I smiled at him with my new teeth and invited him to have me. When he did, I bit his tongue half off and fed him poison of my own making. It took him half an hour to die... the agony must have been exquisite."

"You speak of it as calmly as any mercenary I've known," Gurok said with unconcealed wonder, earning a faint smirk from the redheaded elf. Were they all like this, with something dark under the veneer of sophistication and splendor? He thought of Arastel's comparison of sin'dorei and snakes, sinuous and beautifully scaled but full of venom. _Or poison_, he thought as he considered the elf he was sharing the balcony with.

"My only regret is that I didn't have the gold to afford firebloom at the time, as it makes for an unquenchable thirst and burning fever," Jeth said with a small shrug, his eyes playful. He sobered a moment later, sighing as he cocked his head at the orc. "I say this all to you... as some reminder of our nature. Among the rest of the Horde, we are often regarded as soft. Delicate, even- tame and prim. But vengeance is in our very blood, from the guardians that call for a reckoning of the wrongs done to us as a people to even simple whores mistreated on the streets. It is as true of your elf as it is of Arcelia... and those whose kin he has slain."

"He did not do _your_ kin any wrongs, I hope?" Gurok asked, eyeing the poisoner warily.

Jeth smiled, but this time it lacked any warmth at all. "I have no kin. None that would claim me, at least." He sipped slowly from a glass filled with what looked like white wine. "Sugar's brother was killed in a scheme of Arcelia's. Tricked into believing he would be allowed to join their ranks if he delivered the keys to his employer's estate. By Arastel as like as anyone else," he added quietly.

"Would she reveal us to Arcelia if she knew we were here?" he asked carefully.

The elf gave him a shrewd look. "No. She would turn you over to Splithoof while she gathered everyone she knew that had ever been wronged by Arastel _or_ Arcelia. I would not care to imagine what would become of your elf then. You are not familiar with our fair city," Jeth said sympathetically, his expression softening. "You see the divide between him and her as clear as night and day. You have forgiven him. But for the people who saw him, who heard of his treachery and the murders... he is but one of the heads of the beast Arcelia has born."

"Yet _you_ don't think that," Gurok stated, resting his hands on his knees for lack of anything better to do with them. "You treat him- _us_- decently. Kindly. We'd be lost here if not for you," he rumbled, avoiding Jeth's gaze.

"I only took the two of you on out of consideration for Val," the slender elf dismissively said as he nibbled on a cracker. "But... I do try to look and listen. It's true that he doesn't seem like the monster he once was."

"He was never," the warrior began to protest, but his words ran dry when Jeth gave him a sad smile. "He is not that elf," he said instead, and his throat felt dry and tight as he thought of Arastel's old crimes. "He's no one's warhound. He's not some heartless killer. It's just her, and then he can stop. He doesn't even want to... to do it for a living. He'd rather take up leatherwork," he said quietly. But though those words made his heart ache and reaffirmed his admiration for the rogue, Jeth seemed unmoved.

"How sweet," the prostitute said without any indication that he cared at all. "But he'll _need_ to be heartless, if only for a little while," the prostitute said with a jaunty tilt of his head, "because it _won't_ end with her. Even if we succeed in removing Arcelia, they will scramble to replace her. Her dolts. I doubt any would last, not like she's lasted, but why risk it?" he said with the tone of a decision already made. "This isn't slaying a dragon. This is smothering an infestation. Destroying a hive."

"And you expect Arastel to do it all?" Gurok asked incredulously. The breadth of it alarmed him. He hadn't anticipated... How many _did_ serve his lover's enemy? He had no idea, honestly. Dozens or hundreds? How many would be loyal enough to seek them out for retribution? Bloody vengeance, which Jeth had just spoken to him of, so ingrained in their culture... He took a long breath, eyes slipping shut as he tried to imagine slaying a half-a-hundred for the sake of assuring their safety. Then a hundred. Then more. Would he draw a line? _No, not when it comes to protecting Arastel_, he acknowledged.

"Him," the elf said loftily, unconcerned for any turmoil his suggestion had caused, "and _you_. You will have help," he promised as he fished through his bowl for grapes. "There are others in similar situations with Arcelia. Betrayed. Alone. Hiding. I just need to find them... but first I want you both to know your part. I'm but a simple whore- I don't want to be left holding the weight of this city once she's gone, praying no one equal to her seizes control of whatever structure she leaves behind," he said sternly.

"What is it that you do want?" the warrior asked, uncertain of why the elf might jeopardize himself for them and their cause. It couldn't be just for Valsann, as Jeth said, although it did seem that debt ran deep.

"The things anyone wants," Jeth answered with a coy smile. "Safety, respect, autonomy. I want to keep the gold I earn and use it as I desire. I want to take customers as I please and turn away the ones I don't. No fear of reprisals. And I want to kill the collectors," he murmured as he peeled the skin from a grape and popped it into his mouth. He met the orc's gaze unflinchingly. "You and Arastel and whoever else I find can eradicate the rest. But I have scores to settle with those two," he said darkly.

Gurok had a feeling that Arcelia's cronies had taken more than gold on their visits to collect, but he kept silent. Jeth's anger and hurt seemed to radiate now, thick and intense enough to feel. He was furious, even if he kept the better part of it hidden, and Gurok was certain that it was that deep resentment that had pushed the elf this far- like a low-burning fire that had suddenly been stoked into a roaring blaze, Jeth had embraced this plan with a cold dedication that made the orc wonder... "Did she die? The one you said... Andoreah," he whispered as her name came back to him. "The one they whipped."

Jeth set down his bowl and his plate and uncrossed his legs. He leaned forward, his head angled down, but Gurok could see the dampness in his eyes that he tried to conceal. Was it because he thought it was weak, or did he want to spare himself the warrior's pity? "She did. I... I didn't know it had happened til morning. I didn't even realize she had left," he said softly, "or else I would've- I could've gone to her. If _someone_ had just stopped them and untied her," he trailed off and looked out over the street, eyes glazing over as he must have been imagining a different ending to that night.

"I'm sorry. That it got this bad here for you," the orc clarified, shifting awkwardly as the small elf continued to stare blankly away. He got the impression that Jeth needed time alone, and with the two of them constantly occupying his room it seemed the least the warrior could do was allow him some brief solitude on the balcony.

Gurok rose and headed inside, choosing to wait near the bathroom door for Arastel to emerge. He needed his own time to bathe anyway, and now seemed as good a time as any to ready himself. Later they would need to find whoever these other hiding victims of Arcelia were, attempt to bring them in, because there was no way that he and Arastel could dismantle such a large organization alone.

"It got this bad because we let her fester like a dirty wound," Jeth said from behind him.

Gurok nearly jumped, startled by the slender elf's words. Jeth's steps were so light that hadn't noticed he'd been followed.

"I'm as guilty as any," the redhead continued, unconcerned with the orc's alarm, "of standing back and bemoaning it, decrying it... but doing nothing about it. Suicides that rang of murder, young elves stolen to appease some slaver's tastes, corruption in the highest councils and orders. We would talk of how terrible it was, how monstrous her dogs were, what a nuisance it was to have her take a cut of our gold, but I suppose I didn't really care until it was someone I loved. And now it's... now I..." He shook his head and thinned his lips into a line, his stare hard on the carpeted floor.

The orc was wordless. His jaw worked for a moment but no sound emerged. It was probably for the best, for he could think of no words to reply to such a statement.

"Do you know who hurt her?" Arastel asked as he opened the bathroom door, steam billowing out with him. The freckled elf ducked his head slightly, an apology for eavesdropping on a conversation he probably couldn't have helped but overhear. "I can... I could do them special for you," he offered as he wrapped his towel tight and tucked the corner in to hold it up. His cheeks were red, and not just from the heat of his bath- Gurok saw the rogue avoided his glance, as if shamed that he'd made such a proposal.

Jeth's breath caught, literally speechless for a moment. "Th-thank you. I... I'll have to consider..." he said slowly. "And I'd have to ask around and get the names of the ones involved. But... I would like that," he said in a shaky voice. "I would like them to know that was _why_ they were dying. For her."

Arastel nodded, understanding and a strange sympathy clear in his eyes. Doubtless, he'd been hired for many attempts to return blood for blood. If there was something he knew well, it was probably revenge and whatever relief it could bring.

Andoreah. Salesha, Hatoof's lover that had died by Arastel's hand at Arcelia's command. The list of names would grow, certainly- people that needed to be avenged. Gurok hoped that Arastel's mother wouldn't be added to it.

He excused himself and ducked under the doorframe and into the still steaming bathroom, peeling off his clothes as soon as the door swung shut.

The copper tub in Jeth's bathroom was large enough to hold three elves comfortably, or one large orc, Gurok found- there was a tap with hot and cold water right in the room, which left the orc yearning such a thing for his own home. The shelves behind the tub were lined with soaps and bars of perfume, bottles of lotions and glass jars filled with fine sand for scrubbing.

The warrior picked one up and opened it, shaking the jar gently. The scent from within was powerful, the dried, crushed mint leaves mixed in with pale sand freshening the whole room. Other jars held other herbs and spiced blends- peacebloom, dried lemon peels, honey, the pungent jasmine from the Highlands, and even one full of powdered bloodthistle.

The orc settled on a bar of soap with whole peacebloom petals buried inside it, comforted by the smell of the hardy white flower that Durotar had in droves.

Gurok hissed as he eased himself into the scalding water, but once submerged he tipped his head back and groaned contentedly as he felt the heat drawing the tension from his aching shoulders and back. It was a brief but welcome respite from the pain... and the conversation outside.

His head felt muddled by thoughts about their purpose here, about what needed to be done. Perhaps it was the comfort of the city that had so disarmed him, or their intimate stay in that first brothel. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but...

It wasn't _this_. It felt like planning a coup and a culling at the same time. Murder and wholesale slaughter would be their goal, and one day soon they would have to reap the fruits of that labor... He forced his mind to go blank rather than suffer thoughts of how perilous it would be, how dreadfully unlikely it was that they could both emerge unscathed from such an assault.

The warrior swirled his hands through the bubbly residue left atop the water after he'd washed, the pale froth smelling mildly of peacebloom and milk. He liked the way the swirl of soap and water distracted him from the worries of what lay ahead of them; he didn't realize he'd been doing it for over an hour until a knock at the door startled him and he noticed the water had chilled.

Arastel's voice came through the wooden door, tentative and concerned. "Gurok? Are you alright in there?"

"I'm fine," the orc said in reply. He looked back down at the milky water and knew it wasn't the time to bring up doubts or allow any sort of divide to well up between them. For Arastel's sake, he _was_ fine. He resolved to be fine, to be strong, to be as certain of his duties now as he'd been when he first joined the Kor'kron and put on that tabard.

Gurok would do whatever was necessary to protect Arastel- and Jeth too, if he could- and he would be _fine_.

* * *

**I really like most of this chapter, in large part because I got to introduce two side characters I like a lot. **

**Let me know what you thought. :)**


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